


Dioscuri

by Escalus



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 03B, Alternate Season/Series 05, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Eichen | Echo House, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, Loki's Scepter (Marvel), M/M, Mental Coercion, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2020-03-07 15:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: The nogitsune that possesses Stiles is an ancient creature of infinite cunning and a bottomless thirst forchaos, strife, and pain.It can't be stopped and it believes it can never be controlled.  But what if, during the events of Echo House, an organization with almost limitless resources and a need for just as much chaos and strife as it can manufacture decided to take the nogitsune and its unfortunate host for its own.Stiles and the nogitsune are thrust into Hydra's plans for world domination.   To heroes like the Avengers, he's just another enhanced villain.  But his pack will never give up on him, even if it takes everything they have.No Spoilers for Endgame.  It hasn't even reached The Winter Soldier yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters from Marvel or from Teen Wolf. This is an homage designed for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Tags, especially relationship tags, are subject to flux. As is the title, if it confuses people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue from _Echo House_ is employed in this chapter.

###### November 2012

Brunski chuckled meanly as the other two orderlies silently shoved Stiles into the Quiet Room. “I always love the sarcastic ones.” 

Stiles had to force himself not to roll his eyes. Obviously, Brunski was yet another asshole who enjoyed the power he had over others; Stiles had met too many people over the last year who had that trait near the top of their ten-most-favorite-things list. The chief orderly lip curled in derision and he used his size to loom over him. Maybe Stiles shouldn’t have smarted off to him, but he hadn’t wanted to give Morrell up, so he had relied on his mouth to distract the orderlies from tracking down where he got the illicit drugs. She was his only real help in this place, as frighteningly practical as she had promised to be. 

“Give him five ccs of Haldol.” Brunski handed the syringe to one of the hulking orderlies.

Panic overwhelmed Stiles; this was exactly what the druid had warned him he must not let happen. “Wait. What’s that? Is that a sedative? Okay, hang on. Hang on!” He struggled, but he wasn't powerful at the moment. He wasn’t a werewolf and he wasn’t a fox; he was just Stiles. Bile rose in his throat, and he flailed about seeking to escape their grip. He even begged. “I can’t go to sleep. Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Look … Get off me, man!” 

The orderlies, acting as surly as they looked, were still trained professionals in addition to being quite a bit bigger than he was. They had been trained in how to restrain a violent patient.

“I can’t go to sleep … you don’t understand.” He continued to beg, but they were as unresponsive as stone. Bullies never thought they had to listen.

Stiles felt the bite of the needle in his ass. In a last desperate attempt, he clawed at them with blunt fingers. “You don’t get it. I gotta stay awake, I gotta stay …”

The floor was cool and comforting. The drugs worked as quickly as Melissa’s had. 

“I have to stay awake.”

**~*~**

Aaron Brunski relaxed in his office chair, popping one of his favorite mix tapes into his personal stereo. He so enjoyed teaching punks like that Stilinski kid the lessons they needed to learn. He had been told that the boy was a candidate for the Sixth Floor, yet Brunski hadn't been told what type of freak Stiles might turn out to be. To his eye, the patient seemed like simply another in a line of smart-mouthed brats who managed to get under Brunski’s skin way too easily. The nerve of that idiot, trying to steal his keys. 

Lost in thought, Brunski barely noticed the new orderly enter his office without knocking. Josef Pohlman was pale, twitchy, and slight. He had a very different demeanor than the usual people hired as orderlies, which even managed to make Brunski ill at ease. Pohlman had a way of looking at a person which made them feel like a butterfly impaled on a pin. He had only been a member of the staff for three days, but Brunski was pretty close to letting him go. The not-so-sterling reputation of Eichen House didn’t let Brunski be too picky when hiring personnel, but certain levels of creepy were too creepy, even for someone like him.

Without preamble, Pohlman began talking as if he were discussing the weather, leaning slightly forward and clasping his hands behind his back. “He’s been possessed by a nogitsune.”

“What?”

“You were wondering what type of freak Stilinski was. He’s been possessed by a nogitsune. It’s sedated now, because someone who knows what they're doing injected him with wolf lichen.” Pohlman’s voice was sinuous and cloying, as if he was trying to sell something naughty to the head orderly.

“How did you know that?” Brunski demanded. “How did you know I was thinking that?”

“Oh. I’m psychic; I guess that’s why I was drawn here. But my powers require a tremendous amount of focus even on good days, so unfortunately they can be very unreliable. Sometimes I can read people’s minds as clear as looking through glass, and other times all I get are flashes of emotion,” Pohlman confided. “Today is a good day. I read Dr. Morrell’s mind at lunch, and I read your thoughts as I was coming up the hallway to get the keys.”

“Keys?” Brunski stood up. He had heard of people like this before.

“Yes. I need your keys.” The man explained to Brunski with a tone of irritation. 

“What for?”

“Well, I can’t really kidnap an unconscious teenager out of the Quiet Room if I can’t get the door open, can I? While I do have psychic powers, none of them break locks.”

Brunski stood there, confused and enraged. Did Pohlman think that he would just let him do that? Why would he want to kidnap a nogi-whatsis anyway?

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d let me.” Pohlman brought his hands out around in front of him and brandished a silenced pistol at Brunski. “As for why? A nogitsune is very powerful; a captured specimen could be very useful to the people I work for.” 

“Now, you don’t need the gun. Let’s not do something we’ll regret.” Brunksi put both hands up.

“Oh, I won’t regret it. You see, over the years I’ve developed a rather strange addiction. I like to read people’s minds as they die.” With that, Pohlman shot Brunski twice, the whispered noise of the gun barely echoing in the hallway outside. Pohlman walked over to the desk and snatched up the keys, pausing only to drink in the last glimmering echoes of Brunski’s mind. 

Pohlman closed the door softly behind him. His superiors would be so very pleased with him when he delivered such a prize. "Hail Hydra."

**~*~**

“How is that possible?” Scott didn't remember deciding to get off the couch. His rage had lifted him up as if it were a flood of boiling water. “You said he was going to be safe! You said …“ He bit his tongue so hard he could taste his own blood; having sharp teeth made that an easy thing to do.

His mother gently took his hands into hers, cradling them. Slowly, his claws receded and the red haze over his eyes dimmed. “Breathe, baby, breathe. It’s not his fault.”

Noah Stilinski didn’t look like he shared Melissa’s sentiment. He had come back from the specialist in Los Angeles with the knowledge that Stiles didn’t actually have frontotemporal dementia, that it was a trick by the demon fox to keep Stiles from resisting him. The news had lifted everyone’s spirits until Morrell had alerted them that the possessed Stiles had been abducted right out of Eichen House. Now, the sheriff’s hands trembled even as he spoke with the same professional tone he had used when he had taken over the search on the night Stiles had sleep-walked to the coyote den.

“All we know now is that three people are dead, two are missing, and there's a stolen ambulance. The head orderly, Brunski, was found in his office; he was most likely killed to get his set of the master keys. The other two orderlies were shot once behind the ear, execution style. This indicates that we're most likely dealing with a professional killer. One of the missing people is an orderly named Josef Pohlman; your father is doing a background check on him as we speak. He’s the only lead we have; he'd only been working at the institution for three days.”

“I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight! I shouldn’t have!” Scott kept trying to fill his lungs with air, but no matter how hard he tried he felt as if he were still suffocating. His eyes darted to the mirror on the living room wall. His anchor had to be failing; he was talking around a mouth full of fangs.

Melissa stroked his face. “You can’t help Stiles if you lose control. Focus on that.”

“I can’t be here.” Scott tore out of the room and out of the house, moving so fast that the adults didn’t have time to react. He slammed the door behind him so hard that the lintel might have cracked.

To a stranger's eyes, he would have been a monstrous blur, a dark shape flashing through the night. He ran as fast as he could, but he couldn’t outrun the conviction that he had _allowed_ this to happen. His instincts had told him that Stiles staying in Eichen House had been a bad idea, yet he had stood aside none-the-less. Stiles had been so dead set on protecting them by being admitted, that Scott had passively, and foolishly, relented.

Scott raced down streets, cutting through people's yards, as he sped toward his destination. He remembered doing this once before, trying to get to Allison’s house so they could steal some alone time while her parents were gone. He’d put so much effort into having fun with her, hadn’t he? But he had barely tried to talk Stiles out of committing himself.

_Selfish._

Stiles was gone, without a trace. Scott’s panic at that thought was as bad as his panic when Stiles had called him in the middle of the night while sleepwalking. He put on more speed, so much speed that he shredded his shoes and socks. Pain stung his bare feet when they struck the pavement. Stiles had told him that something was wrong, with mysterious keys and appearing and disappearing blackboard writing, yet Scott had been so sure that Stiles couldn’t possibly have been a killer that he had decided to focus completely on the idea that the oni might be after Kira.

_Stupid._

When he came to rest in front of Eichen House, it took a few minutes for his feet to heal completely. Of course, this mad dash through the night had been pointless. Even if he managed to pick up Stiles’ scent, he couldn’t possibly track a vehicle – especially one with over half a day's head start on him. He had let Stiles convince him it that he would only be gone for seventy-two hours. He had given in so easily. He’d made mistake after mistake.

_Worthless._

He couldn’t find Stiles. He couldn’t save Stiles. He couldn’t protect anyone. He’d been so interested in getting to know Kira – in being normal, in being human – that even if there had been something to do, he wouldn’t have done it. He’d done what he had always chosen to do and pretended everything would be okay until forced to admit that it wouldn't be.

That had to change.

**~*~**

The nogitsune wiggled its toes in the chill air. They were one of the few parts of Stiles’ body that it was able to move, and that was quite an accomplishment for whoever had imprisoned him. At first glance, its prison was more like a hospital, and a much better one than its previous accommodations. The bed, the monitoring equipment, and the white walls were far cleaner than Eichen House could ever hope to be. The numerous straps holding it to the bed were tough enough to handle its enhanced strength. What’s more, it could feel the power of the occult wards inscribed on the walls, infused with real belief, and strong enough to strangle its own magic. Someone knew what they were doing when they built this cell.

The nogitsune could work with that. Let them underestimate it. Let them think that this would contain it. This kidnapping would most likely become the last thing these fools ever did.

As if on cue, a man entered the cell, bravely alone. The yako could tell from the stench of low-grade magic and various occult equipment concealed on the human’s person that this was a sorcerer. It smiled a wide and beaming smile. Human sorcerers usually offered endless fun. The look on their faces when they realized that they would never live long enough to even begin to comprehend the full array of tricks a nogitsune could play was priceless. 

The sorcerer put a small carrying case on a cart and rolled it over to the bed. “How are we this morning, sir?”

“Politeness is a new approach. It can’t hurt your chances.” The nogitsune decided to let this one live longer than it usually let uppity dabblers. “We’ll play along for now. What is your name?”

“Gregory Belial.” The sorcerer double-checked the straps holding it down. 

It was sure that it reacted with what the modern children called a derp-face. Then it started to laugh. Loudly. “Are you serious?”

“You know how important names are in magic; don’t pretend you don’t. It’s a pseudonym.”

“It’s hi-LAR-eee-us.” 

The nogitsune was pleased to see it had managed to poke holes in its captor’s aura of calm. It was less pleased when it saw what the man had pulled out of the box. 

“Do you think this is hilarious as well?” Belial said turning the shining silver torc over and over in his hands. “You recognize it, don’t you?”

“You’ll regret it if you put that on us. No matter how long it takes, we’ll find a way to kill you slowly. Very, very slowly.” 

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Do you think you’re the first human who thought they could rule us? Up-jumped little monkeys read a few books and suddenly they think they’re the masters of the universe. We’re a thousand years old. We’ve seen more than you could possibly imagine.”

“Right there.” Belial shook a finger at him. “That’s where _you’re_ underestimating _me._ Or rather, you’re underestimating _us._ If I were by myself, you’d have a point. I’d have to be very brave to try something like this, and I’d most likely have to worry for the rest of my life about you breaking free. But I’m not alone. Hydra has existed for millennia, so I didn’t have to reinvent the wheel. I didn’t have to track this down by myself.”

The nogitsune remained silent. This was something it had not foreseen. The wise fox remained silent when things take a turn for the worse.

“You know how this works, right?”

“We do. When you put that on us, you’ll give us a command. We must follow the command until the torc is removed.” The nogitsune spoke carefully. 

“Good.” Belial muttered a few words and placed the collar around the yako’s neck. _“You will not harm a member of HYDRA in any way.”_

The discomfort began immediately. It fed on pain, of course, but not its own. Stubbornly, it refused to speak. 

“You have to give me a name, my friend,” the sorcerer admonished. “The pain won’t stop until you do.”

The nogitsune was certainly not used to being on this side of similar situations. The irony was completely unappreciated. It had a number of names it might give, but few of them would be acceptable in this situation.

Belial made an effort to sound reasonable. “All magic requires balance. The torc will make you obey, but only if you have a way out. Speak the name of the person who can take it off.”

“And then you’ll kill them, leaving me bound forever.”

Belial smiled grimly. “That’s usually how it goes. On the other hand, what choice do you have?” 

The torc began to feel like someone had coated it in gasoline and lit it on fire. This was intolerable. Finally, it gasped out, _“The True Alpha.”_ The pain ceased.

Belial took a step back. “That’s not a name.”

“It’s a unique individual, and that’s all the magic of the torc requires.” The nogitsune felt relief to have at least turned the tables a tiny bit on Belial. “It’s certainly not our fault that you don’t know what it means or who it refers to. Sucks to be you. Now, since we can’t hurt you, untie us.”

Belial looked at him suspiciously.

The nogitsune smirked. “You’re a big boy, and since you’re _absolutely sure_ that the torc protects you, what do you have to lose?” The fox showed him some silver teeth.

**~*~**

Lydia Martin frowned at the mirror that hang above her vanity. The clock on the wall told her that it was one in the morning. She should be asleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes. Instead, she was waiting.

Waiting to scream.

Stiles had been taken a week ago, and here she was sitting here at her vanity staring at her own reflection, as if she could make herself be helpful. She had had enough of not being helpful when, while he had been sleep-walking his way into a coyote den, she had led searchers to the basement of Eichen House, wasting precious time. It was only after his abduction that she realized her premonitions had been warning her about something else entirely.

Her powers were still so vague that it made her feel useless, and Lydia hated that feeling beyond almost anything else. Yet, she wasn’t just a banshee. She was an extraordinarily intelligent young woman, and if the powers of her bloodline failed her, she would use her other gifts to help her friend. She only needed a clue as to where she should start. 

Her phone buzzed again from its place on her night stand; she suspected it was Aiden, leaving her another message. She appreciated the former alpha trying his best to be supportive. He was just so clumsy about it, so clumsy that it was becoming tiresome. She didn’t want his meaningless platitudes or encouragement to accept what couldn’t be changed. She wanted answers.

However, she checked the phone out of politeness. Aiden had sent her seventeen texts since she had last answered him. A memory from earlier in the year made her breath catch in her throat. 

“I’m not ignoring him,” she echoed. 

There were five voice mails from Allison. Two from Isaac. One each from Ethan, Derek, Melissa, and the sheriff. She would answer them all eventually. She would answer them when she had something concrete to tell them.

She put the phone down on the table once again with a firm snap. She needed to both get out of her bedroom and get out of her head. Throwing on a robe to cover her negligee, she headed for the courtyard. 

The air was cold against her skin; it was the middle of November. Yet, it soothed her because it gave her something else to think about other than missing Stiles. 

And she did miss him. She wondered when that had changed. Was it at her 17th birthday party in the spring? No. He was still hiding things from her then, and he had been totally immature in his affections. It was only recently, when they had worked together on the problems of the Alpha Pack and the Darach that she had begun to desire his presence. It was only when they were consumed with solving the deadly mysteries of Deucalion and Jennifer that he had stopped being so creepily obsessive and started treating her like a real person, and she had found him not only to be nice but also devoted, passionate and clever. 

They had become friends, and now he was gone. For some unfathomable reason, it hurt as much as Jackson leaving had.

She walked to the edge of the heater pool; little wisps of fog trailed off of it. She was startled though, because in the reflection of the water, she could plainly see a pair of red glowing eyes on the roof of her house. She was startled and scared for a single solitary moment, until she figured out who it might be.

“Scott?” 

The figure flinched.

“Come down here.”

With a leap, the alpha landed on the other side of the pool from where she was standing. It was effortless. How different he was from their freshman year!

“How long have you been out here?”

“You weren’t supposed to have noticed,” Scott said glumly. 

Lydia walked around the pool to stand next to him. “Were you checking up on me?”

“Yeah. Kinda.” Scott couldn’t look her in the face. At one time, it might have been amusing. 

She felt violated. “You weren’t out here just waiting for me to scream, were you?”

“No!”

Lydia found herself accepting his denial. “I believe you. You know that you’d probably hear it from your house … especially for him.” She narrowed her eyes. “How many times in the last week have you been on my roof?”

“Uh.”

“Scott!” She made her voice a command. 

“Seven?”

Lydia reached out and took him by the arm, leading him over to one of the stone benches that surrounded the pool. “Any of the others caught you yet?” 

“No … wait! Uhm, I’m only …” Scott trailed off.

“What happened to Stiles was not your fault.” Lydia shook her head shortly. “You aren’t going to do anyone any good if you wear yourself out trying to protect all of us.”

“If I don’t, then what am I good for?”

Lydia didn’t know what to say. She, too, had been sleepless out of guilt and regret. What right did she have to tell Scott he couldn’t feel that way?

“You get better,” she said. “You get stronger. _We_ get stronger. We learn about what we are and what we can do, and we take what we learn and use it to find Stiles and bring him home. But that requires common sense, you idiot. Lurking on my rooftop every night until you’re tired enough to fall off of it isn’t going to do anything useful.”

Scott sighed but he didn’t argue. He must have been pretty tired already. She could almost feel the fatigue wafting off of him. “I miss him.”

“It’s only been a week.”

“I miss him every day.” Scott said softly. “I thought … I thought I had a chance of doing this right, if he was with me. And now, I’m lost.” 

“You’re not lost, Scott. You’re just hurt. Come inside. You can use the spare bedroom.” Lydia pulled him up.

“Your mom won’t mind?”

“She and Johnny Ambien had a hot date.” Lydia joked. “Come on, you big idiot.”

###### January 2013

The Bell Boeing V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft roared over the shallow and warm waters of the Atlantic. In this part of the Bahamas, an observer might have guessed that it carried some free-wheeling millionaire on their way to a beach vacation. The observer would have been wrong.

It carried one of the most dangerous men in the world surrounded by other, only-slightly-less dangerous men and women.

The plane made a perfect landing on a recently-built platform near a sandy short on the northeast side of Samana Cay. No other building was visible nearby save for a low concrete bunker. The very important person glanced out of the airplane’s windows. Two people were standing at the base of the platform, waiting nervously. They had every reason to be nervous.

When the plane was safely landed, Wolfgang Von Strucker emerged from it, leading an entourage comprised of bodyguards and assistants. He paused at the bottom of the plane’s ramp, studying the area. This base didn’t look like much, but that had been done on purpose. The vast majority of the base's square footage was located underwater, constructed at night in the last years of the twentieth century. It was meant to look like not much of anything. The cay itself, suspected of being the site of Columbus’ first landing in North America, had been officially uninhabited since the 1950s.

That made it the perfect place for Hydra to keep its more dangerous and volatile occult resources. 

Dr. Ranefer and Mr. Belial – Von Strucker always rolled his eyes at the presumption in the name – met him at the helicopter pad. At least they were brave, coming to face him after the tersely worded message he had sent them. It was well known among the troops that Von Strucker had had more than one Hydra agent shot for incompetence.

This time, though, they had little to worry about. He wasn’t going to have an entire department executed simply because their recent mission had been costly. The creature the Department of Occult Armaments had enslaved for Hydra had already demonstrated its usefulness in a few short weeks. The first time they had presented to it a problem to solve, it had devised a plan of such cunning malevolence that every single goal that Von Strucker had set for the operation had been achieved. It's potential usefulness hadn’t been the problem.

The mission had been successful, but it had also seen, in the end, a tremendous amount of casualties on Hydra's side. Only the creature itself had survived its first mission, chuckling at its handiwork.

“I thought,” Von Strucker said without preamble, “that the controls you put on it prevented it from harming anyone loyal to Hydra.”

“It does. They do.” Belial spoke immediately and with frantic conviction. Ranefer more than graciously allowed the sorcerer to put himself forward. “The nogitsune wasn’t directly responsible for a single casualty.” 

“Go on.” 

“It fulfilled the parameters we set for it, flawlessly and without fail. Its plan simply didn't show any regard for possible casualties, because we failed to specify that we wanted minimum casualties. We were unable to recognize that error before the plan was implemented.”

Von Strucker sneered. “An asset that hurts us as much as the enemy is not much of an asset. Perhaps you just don’t know how to properly motivate it.”

Dr. Ranefer spoke up from her position on the dock, safely behind the sorcerer. “Sir, with all due respect, the creature has a very alien mindset.”

“Everybody wants something.” The Hydra leader stalked forward to the entrance to the base proper. The door to the concrete bunker opened by itself, revealing a high-tech checkpoint.

Belial and Ranefer hurried behind him, followed by his entourage. Belial spoke up hurriedly. “We know what it wants: chaos, strife and pain. As far as we can tell, it has no other goal; we’ve found that it values little else on the material plane.”

Von Strucker sighed in frustration. “This is the same mistake this department made with the Bloodstorm fiasco of the early nineties." The D.O.A. has created a powerful killing machine in an artificial vampire while completely neglecting to develop a means to use it effectively. "I would think making sure dangerous monsters were cooperative would have been step one? As for this … nogitsune … surely it understands that we can make sure it has as much chaos and strife as it can stomach, so long as that chaos and strife is focused on our enemies.”

“It does, but …”

“But what?”

“We … offended it.”

Von Strucker stopped and turned to the pair of occult researchers. “Seriously?”

Belial took in a deep breath. “I have read that offending a nogitsune could be dangerous, and our means of recruitment was certainly ... direct. I’ll take full responsibility for the failure of the project, but I don’t know how … I don’t know how to make it worth the effort we’ve already put into it. The torc will protect Hydra from any direct form of revenge, but we can’t trust it to cooperate.”

Von Strucker turned to the sorcerer. “So you take responsibility, do you? Luckily, I’m not so quick to throw away a possible advantage. Yes, the operation cost a lot of resources, but the degree of success exceeded expectations. That’s why I’m here – to solve a problem you two obviously cannot. Show it to me.”

The nogitsune was in its cell watching television, pretending to be bored. The thing looked like a teenage boy, but it turned to stare uncannily into the one-way mirror immediately when the three of them entered the room.

“Can it hear us?” Von Strucker asked.

“No,” Dr. Ranefer observed. “However, it can probably sense you.”

“Me?”

“It’s drawn to potential sources of chaos,” Belial adds. “You have a significant amount of personal power.”

“Fascinating. It certainly looks like a normal human.”

“Essentially, the host _is_ perfectly normal: a seventeen-year-old Caucasian male. The boy has above average intelligence. He suffers from ADHD but is otherwise in good health. A nogitsune, unlike other kitsune who choose permanent host bodies, selects a host as needed in order to act in this world. Without something to anchor it in place, it would simply return from whence it came. That’s why threatening to kill it if it doesn’t behave isn’t a very effective means of control. The death of the host would be an inconvenience to it at most.”

Von Strucker studied it through the glass and it smiled back at him, blandly and facetiously. “Is the host’s mind still intact?”

“Yes,” Dr. Ranefer answered. “Our psychics can sense the boy’s presence and have even made cursory contact. He appears to be a passenger in his own body, witnessing events but unable to affect them.”

Von Strucker considered this. “That might be useful. Do you have a file on the boy?” Dr. Ranefer had it ready for him. The Hydra leader leafed through it as everyone waited for him to finish. “This is a pretty thorough report. Have you already considered making an appeal to the boy to help you control the nogistune?”

“We did,” Belial admitted. “As far as we could tell, there was a time when the boy could temporarily wrest control back from the fox, but that time had passed long before we managed to get our hands on him. It’s unfortunate.” 

Von Strucker nodded. “You’re department is in luck. I may have the solution.” With that he gestured to his entourage and entered the room. The creature had gone back to pretending that it was watching television. Both of them knew it wasn’t.

It yawned. “You’re important.” 

“I am. I’ve come here to insure your cooperation in Hydra’s plans.”

“Oh, you have our cooperation.” The boy turned and put his bare feet on the floor. “We just _live_ to cooperate.”

Von Strucker studied the creature. “Obviously, that's untrue. Right now, you’re using us to feed, and we’re reduced to using your talents by placing you under duress. That’s not optimal for either of us.” 

The nogitsune shrugged eloquently. 

“You have a lot of potential, but without a degree of understanding and trust, that potential will be wasted.”

The boy chuckled. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem, not an ‘us’ problem.”

“It's a problem for all of us.” The Hydra leader snapped his fingers at one of his subordinates who opened up a long case he had been carrying. “Fortunately for Hydra, there is a solution. I suspect that the controlling entity in that body won’t listen to reason …”

“We suspect that you are _completely_ correct.”

“Therefore, some changes must be made.” Von Strucker brought a bladed scepter with a glowing blue gem out of the case. 

Immediately, the creature was on its feet. “What is that?”

“Something far older than yourself.” With a flourish, he turned to face the nogitsune. “And far more powerful.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, before all the lights and the television in the room burst in a display of foxfire. It was meant to be a distraction so the fox could make a break for it. But the people who had entered the room with Hydra’s head weren’t loser orderlies in a mental institution. They were Von Strucker’s personal guard. 

“Hold him.” The Hydra leader commanded. 

Trapped, they pinned the nogitsune down. It spewed threats, but it couldn’t escape without hurting the Hydra guards, and the collar prevented it from doing so. It promised retribution on them, on their children, and on their children’s children.

Von Strucker chuckled. “So intimidating, but also pointless, in the scheme of things. You will serve and serve willingly. Hail Hydra.” He pressed the end of the scepter to the fox’s chest and the power contained within it reached out and seized hold of the two minds contained within one body. 

When it was finished, there was only one mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hydra's Department of Occult Armaments; sorcerer Gregory Belial; Ayla Ranefer, aka Rotwrap; and the "Bloodstorm incident" are all from Marvel comics 616 universe. They haven't yet appeared in the MCU.


	2. Chapter 2

###### February 2013

Allison had always relished being woke up by the light of the dawn. On those days, when she trained with her father, she was always required to be up far before the sun began to peak over the horizon. When she went to school, her alarm clock could be set not quite as early as on her training days, but it still meant she opened her eyes in darkness.

This particular Saturday would be without training. The last few months had seen no new threat appear, so she had nothing to do and nowhere to go. She was still abed when the sunlight poured in through the window, which glittered as the light refracted through the frost. Last night had been unusually cold even for February, dropping below twenty, and her room was a little chilly. She could feel the chill on the tip of her nose.

Under the covers remained luxuriously warm, and it wasn’t just because of the heavy comforter. Allison had her own personal werewolf as a bed warmer. Of course, he had done other, more pleasurable things as well the night before. She rolled over to study his face only to find out that he wasn’t asleep. Isaac lay in the bed, eyes wide open, studying the ceiling as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. The light coming in from the dawn threw his profile into sharp relief. Allison couldn’t sense chemo signals, but she saw the flat line of his mouth and the wrinkle in his brow. 

“Hey,” she said softly. With a gentle finger, she turned his head to the side, bringing his blue eyes to meet hers. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Have you been up all night?” 

“Only a few hours.” Isaac tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, but he couldn’t avoid her gaze. “I’m worried.”

“About?” She felt him take in a deep breath, and then his eyes dropped from hers. “My dad isn’t going to be back this weekend. We have the apartment all to ourselves. Even if he came back early, you’d hear him and he wouldn’t come in here without knocking anyway.”

“That’s not it.” His voice was quiet, maybe even ashamed.

Allison studied him and then put her palm on his cheek. She gently pushed his face up so he was looking back in her eyes once again. There was no resistance. “You can tell me anything, Isaac. If you think some thing’s wrong, I want to hear about it.” 

He reached up and pulled her hand away from his face, and worry now creased her brow. She couldn't imagine what was bothering him. He had a new home, new friends, and a new family. Isaac’s grades were fine, far better than they had been when he lived with his father. Their relationship was still new, but he seemed happy with it. At least she hoped he was happy with it. 

Isaac sat up in bed, allowing the slight cooler air of the room slip under the covers. Allison shivered, but she sat up to match him. 

“Please, tell me.”

“It’s Scott.”

Allison tilted her head to the side. “Is there anything specific that’s worrying you … aside from the obvious?” Scott had been on edge since Stiles’ abduction. Allison had seen the alpha both frantic to the point of mania trying to find Stiles and alternately paralyzed with remorse. But as the months had passed, those extremes had vanished. Or, at least, she thought they had. 

“He quit lacrosse. Some stupid freshman made captain.”

“Well, isn’t that to be expected? He and Stiles were on the team together …”

Isaac made to get out of bed; she could feel the irritation pouring off him. She reached out and grabbed his arm to restrain him from leaving the room, but she didn’t put any strength in it. She wanted to comfort him, not fight with him. “I’m trying to understand. I’m not trying to tell you that you’re wrong.” 

“You … you don’t have the same bond with him as I have.” Isaac said quietly staring at his feet where they rested on the floor. “I hate saying that. It’s going to sound like I’m saying I know more about him than you, that I care about him more than you do, because we have this … magic link and you don’t. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have it, because it’s not fair to anyone, really. He’s changed. He’s changed and I feel it.”

Allison got out of bed, slid on a robe to protect her from the cold, and walked around the room so she could face Isaac head on. 

“He doesn’t smile anymore.” Isaac complained. 

“I’ve seen him smile.”

“It’s not real. It’s not _his_ smile. It’s the smile he thinks we want to see. I think if you weren’t walking around so gingerly because of us … our relationship, you would be able to tell that as well.” Isaac’s voice held subtle tones of accusation, and Allison drew back. Isaac didn’t say anything else but he bent down to grab his pants. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” Isaac shook his head, firmly. “I’m not mad at anyone. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what any of us can do, and that pisses me off.”

Allison pushed down her own anger. She couldn’t tell what she resented more: the implication that she was afraid that Scott disapproved of their relationship or the implication that she wasn’t just as close to Scott as Isaac was. Maybe she’d been avoiding Scott since the end of November, but that was only because she was giving him space. Stiles, his best friend of over a decade, had vanished without a trace. She, his ex-girlfriend, was in a relationship with his beta. While she saw Scott at school and they talked as friends would, she wasn’t going to try to pretend that these two things didn’t make life difficult for him. 

“I’ve seen something like this before.” Isaac said, his voice deathly quiet once again. 

“Scott’s in mourning, but it’s not like he’s shut himself inside his house. You live with him, you see him every day; the rest of us seem him every day at school. Lydia finally convinced him to stop lurking outside our houses at night, but he’s always been there when we needed him.” 

“You don’t see the changes because you’re not looking closely enough. You noticed him keeping tabs on us, but you don’t see him working out. He’s like a machine.” 

“For …” Allison had been about to say for lacrosse, but that could no longer be true. 

“He’s been pulling down extra shifts at the clinic. I’m convinced that most of those shifts are an excuse to get Deaton to teach him more about everything. When he’s not working, he’s been training with Derek: fighting, tracking, mastering the shift. I haven’t seen him watch a movie or play a video game since Stiles disappeared. I don’t think I’ve seen him relax since Christmas Day.”

“People deal with grief in different ways.” Allison turned to look out the window, the pleasant feelings about the frost long since vanished. “ _I’m_ certainly not going to be the one to scold Scott for going to extremes after losing someone he cared about.”

“I know.” Isaac came to her and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. 

“When my mom died, I felt lost. I needed something to grab onto, something to help me make a world that had suddenly turned so wrong right again. Gerard took advantage of that, and I let him.” 

“Ally, how long did that last? A week? A little more? I know what grief can do, I told you, and I’ve seen this before.” He pulled her closer in comfort. “After my mom died, my dad started … I guess you could call it a phase. He tried to be … _everything_ for me and my brother. He took us to the park. He helped us do homework. He learned how to cook. It was like he was trying to make it up to us that our mom died. But as hard as he tried, he could never do it; no one can erase what’s happened. So after he tried so hard and failed, he got angry.”

“Scott isn’t your father.”

“Not yet. But Scott’s pushing himself to make up for something that wasn’t his fault. I can see it, as plain as that sunrise. He’s trying to be the Best Alpha Ever, and we all know it’s not going to help. I don’t want what happened to my dad to happen to him.”

Allison turned around and tilted her head to the side. “Then we need to do something about it.”

“What?”

“You see a pattern in his behavior that might lead to a bad end. So we shouldn’t sit here worrying about it, we should do something about it.” Her voice got sharp. “What does he need that we can give him?”

“We?”

“I care about Scott, just as much as you do. I loved him before you even met him.” Allison hesitated for a moment. “In a way, I still love him.”

“I didn’t … I wasn’t implying that you didn’t. I … care about him as well.”

“You can say you love him, too. We can both love him and it doesn’t hurt what we feel about each other.”

Isaac shook his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

Allison made her decision. “If you think Scott is going to destroy himself over losing Stiles, then we have a mission. We’re going to protect him … from himself.” 

They stood before the window and let the sun rise.

###### March 2013

Brock Rumlow entered the CQC Training Gym on the fifteenth floor of the Triskelion. Officially, he was there to give non-combat personnel basic instruction in close-quarters combat in case of an armed breach of headquarters. Unofficially, this weekly meeting was part of the Hydra recruitment program. Any SHIELD agent claiming to be loyal to Hydra was required to demonstrate combat ability which surpassed what could be expected from their non-Hydra counterparts. The training was brutal; Rumlow made sure of it. If and when the time came to assert control openly, his people would be ready.

In any event, the training also served to reinforce esprit de corps, which was necessary for the success of any long-term conspiracy.

Four members of his STRIKE team were already present and waiting for him as he had inspected, but they weren’t alone. This wasn’t cause for immediate concern, because sometime SHIELD employees showed up to actually take advantage of the official training. Instead of some office drone or intelligence analyst this time, however, there was a kid. He stood apart from Rumlow’s colleagues, looking out the window at the D.C. skyline. He was wearing standard issue work-out clothes, but they were loose and baggy on him; they made him look like some skinny punk.

“Alright.” Rumlow cleared his throat. “Who are you?”

The boy turned slowly in place, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit. Rumlow had been trained to get the feel of people quickly, which was an asset in his line of work. The boy looked like any other teenager except for the eyes. The eyes were not right; they seemed to belong to someone far older. “Right now? Stiles Stilinski.”

“What are you doing in my gym, Right-Now-Stiles Stilinski?”

“Well, I’ve been told that you were the best physical trainer in this entire ugly building. So, I want you to train me.” The boy glanced at the other four men, who maintained their solemn and slightly smug demeanors. 

Rumlow rubbed his eyes with one hand. “How old are you?”

“That’s a matter for some debate,” Stiles replied, shrugging exaggeratedly. “Let’s cut the small talk. Moe, Larry, Curly and Shemp are getting antsy.”

“Seal the room.” The door shut and sealed at Rumlow’s command, and he jerked his head at the boy. The other four men broke apart from their huddle.

“This training program is for adults. It’s a serious thing I do here, and I don’t have time to teach some snot-nosed brat the basics of combat, especially when it looks like they could be knocked over by a strong breeze. I don’t care who told you to find me.”

Stiles’ eyes slid to the right to watch the men approaching him. He shifted his stance, but he didn’t look concerned. 

“You see these men here? They’re real soldiers. Tough. Experienced. Maybe a little mean. And they definitely don’t like being called names.”

“Is that so?”

Without giving warning, Rumlow grabbed ahold of Stiles and threw him to the ground. “That’s called a lift-pull foot sweep.”

Stiles lay prone for a moment to catch his breath, and then slowly stood back up. He turned to face Rumlow, the other four circling the pair. “That’s the English translation, sure. The actual term is _harai tsurikomi ashi._ ” 

“So you can speak —” 

With a burst of speed, Stiles returned the favor and Rumlow felt his feet flying out from under him. The throw Stiles used required him to go to the ground as well, but Stiles rolled to his feet. “That’s called the _sasae-tsurikomi ashi._ The English translation is propping-and-drawing ankle throw. I don’t need you to teach me how to fight. I know how to fight. I’ve forgotten more about combat than you have ever learned.”

Rumlow stood back up, internally controlling his emotions. He didn’t like being humiliated. “You sure talk a good game.”

“You’ll find it’s one of my many talents.” Stiles watched as the four other men circled him. “Is the cast of Raging Stallion’s next bare-backing masterpiece supposed to be intimidating? Are you trying to scare me straight?”

“Maybe.” The commander of the STRIKE squad size him up. “You’re a surprise. I don’t like surprises. But I do know that the best way to find out a man’s value is to look him in the eyes when he’s afraid.”

“Oh.” Stiles nodded. “I guess that’s true. There was a teenage boy once. He was very afraid. Afraid that he wasn’t a very good little boy, but instead he was very bad. Afraid that being a bad little boy had hurt his mother. Afraid that he disappointed his father. Afraid that if people saw how bad he was, they would leave him behind. Afraid that he would never, ever be as good as his best friend. And most of all, he was afraid of power. Because, if he had power, he was worried that all it do would be to prove how bad he really was.”

“Cute story. How is it relevant?” Rumlow was going to give the kid a good scare and then throw him out on his ass.

Stiles sucked in his cheeks and then blew him out. “Because he was right. In the end, he got power, and it turns out he wasn’t a very good boy after all.” He looked Rumlow in the eye. “But he also wasn’t _afraid_ anymore.”

The boy stepped to the side and threw out a palm, which pushed ‘Moe,’ one of the STRIKE team members a good ten feet to slam up against the wall. With amazing speed, he launched himself in the air with an arm wrapped around Larry’s throat. He managed to kick Shemp in the face which sent the man tumbling down to the ground. 

The STRIKE members weren’t slouches. Larry ducked down out of Stile’s choke, causing the kid to fall to the ground. Curly tried to pin him to the floor with a foot but the kid rolled out of the way. Curly pressed the attack, but even prone, Stiles grabbed the leg and hurled Curly into the recovering Shemp. 

Rumlow punched down into the kid’s solar plexus. He could hear the breath leave his body, but it didn’t seem to faze Stiles at all. The boy kipped up to his feet. 

Rumlow and the STRIKE team had worked together for a long time, and they fell into the same rhythm now. Larry tried to sweep his legs out from under the boy, while Rumlow went for a choke grab. Leaping up over Larry’s attack, Stiles got both hands around Rumlow’s arm. With obscene strength he forced the STRIKE commander down. 

“See?” Stiles said with a menacing smirk. “No fear.” He then pulled Rumlow’s hand off his throat and released him. 

Rumlow got back to this feet and studied the kid in front of him. “You’re the Enhanced I was told about. Son of a bitch. They told me you weren’t going to come until sometime next week. And they certainly didn’t say you were going to look like this.” 

“I don’t do well with schedules,” Stiles smirked. “Never liked them. Never managed to keep to them much. But I can and I will, if you give me what I want.” 

“You’re stronger than any human being. You’re quicker. Your form was almost perfect.” Rumlow ruminated as his friends got to their feed. “I don’t see what you need me for.”

Stiles gestured at himself. “This body is healthy, but it’s not at its peak physical capacity. You can help me reach it.”

Rumlow took a step back. “I was also told you were incapable of hurting members of Hydra.”

“Were any of you actually hurt?”

Stiles had tossed them around, but there were no broken bones. Any bruise would be less than they got during a hard workout.

“I’ll need to evaluate you, anyway.” Rumlow gestured toward the weapons rack. “What’s your pleasure?” 

Stiles walked over and studied it for a minute, looking up and down. He then reached out and grabbed a jō, picking it up and spinning it around. “It’s not a baseball bat, but it’ll do. Muso beat my ass with it once.”

“Muso?”

“Muso Gonnosuke Katsuyoshi. Invented the technique.” 

Rumlow snorted. At the kid’s upraised eyebrow, he laughed. “He lived during the 17th century. You’re expecting me to believe …” 

“You want proof. Come at me. One at a time or all at once.” The kid gave a wide, shit-eating grin. “Show me.”

“Try it, boys.” 

The STRIKE members all chose the asp batons they usually used on missions. They were shorter than Stiles’ stick, but they were faster and moved like an extension of their arms. Yet, they moved more cautiously this time. Stiles had earned their respect. 

Shemp charged at Stiles, lunging at the weapon, hoping to disarm him. The kid tossed the jō at the man, bouncing it off his chest and stopping his forward momentum. He then snatched the weapon out of the air and swept his legs in one smooth motion. 

Stiles winked. “You can do better than that.”

The three remaining soldiers charged at him, as the fourth one got up and claimed a new position. Stiles whirled the bat like it was an extension of his arm, pushing them back. Tripping one of them with another sweep. He used one hand to push an assailant into each other. When Stiles got hit in the face by a punch, he shrugged it off and spun around. In two minutes, he had scattered them once more. 

Rumlow began to pace around the teenager. “You’re holding back.” 

“Yeah. I can’t really hurt you.” 

“What do you need me for? You’re stronger than a human.”

“Much,” agreed Stiles pleasantly. 

“Tougher. Faster.”

“All true, but there’s a very good reason I need the training.”

Rumlow picked up a pair of tonfa from the rack. “Show me.” He went in low with a quick jab. The boy took the hit and then pushed him back with the end of the jō. 

“It’s about efficiency.” Stiles rushed forward and swung the bat lazily, slow enough that Rumlow could dodge, but the commander chose to block instead. At the last moment, Stiles put so much strength that one of the tonfa shattered. 

“I see. How long can you keep this level of power up?” 

“Finally, the right question, Mr. Rumlow.” Stiles stopped and bowed to his opponents. “I can play all manner of tricks, but they cost energy, and I don’t have an infinite supply. You’ve seen the Asgardian?” 

“You can fight Thor?”

“With my metaphorical batteries charged to capacity? I think I could match him for maybe ninety seconds to two minutes — but that’s never going to happen, so just stop thinking about it.” Stiles waved his hands for emphasis. “I would have to be dead drunk to get in a fair fight with a bio-arcanically engineered demigod. So sorry. _Pass._ ”

Rumlow chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“The truth is — the better shape this body is in the less I have to call upon my power, which means I have more energy for when I really need it.” 

“I see. I can do that.” Rumlow grimaced. “You’ll have to avoid using your powers while you work out. I’m not going to be able to go easy on you.”

“Of course.” Stiles shrugged. 

They worked out a training regimen program. Rumlow would have this boy ready for the field in a few months. 

“Good. Same time next Monday. Be here at eight sharp.” Rumlow said severely. “Enhanced or not, I don’t like my time being wasted by anyone.”

“Sure. Sure.” Stiles offered him a smile.

“Hail Hydra.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment. “Oh,” Stiles suddenly slapped himself comically on the side of the face. “Hail Hydra and all that.”

Rumlow headed toward the showers, but then he turned back to Stiles. “If you have a limited supply of energy, how do you recharge, or is it just a matter of time.”

Stiles gave him a sharp smile. “Oh. I just have to eat.”

###### April 2013

"You’re moving.” Scott clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. 

“Yes.” Noshiko sat upright on the couch, her hands folded in her lap. She gazed at him steadily, without flinching.

Scott could hear Kira in her bedroom. He imagined her listening to this conversation. Mrs. Yukimura had flatly refused to let her be present. It gave the older kitsune an advantage. Scott could hear Ken puttering around in the kitchen. He was cooking, even if it was the middle of the day.

“You’re moving back to New York.”

“I believe that is what I said. The house is for sale, and we’ll be leaving at the end of the semester.” 

Scot took a deep breath and counted back down from ten. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes, we can. We only moved to Beacon Hills once I realized that the nogitsune has been released. It’s not here anymore.”

“No. It’s somewhere using my best friend as a meat suit.” Scott spat out with venom.

“That is, unfortunately, true.”

“So your response is … to leave.” Scott hissed the words out. “You’re going to abandon him.”

Noshiko sighed. It annoyed Scott to no end, because she was sighing about his statement not her own actions. To her, he was being unfair. Scott wanted to scream, but it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t help Stiles at all if he alienated the woman who had the most experience with and knowledge of the monster that took him. She also represented the best chance Scott had to meet that monster again. Given their history, Scott planned — Scott hoped — that it would come back for Noshiko.

“Abandonment implies that there was something I could do about his condition that I haven’t done. The nogitsune has been gone for months—”

“One hundred and sixty-three days.” 

Noshiko raised both eyebrows at his specificity. “Yes. Neither I, nor the oni, nor your pack, have been able to locate any sign of the nogitsune or Stiles. This means either that they do not wish to be found or that Stiles is—”

“Don’t say it.”

“My not saying it won’t make it any less of a possibility.”

“Lydia hasn’t screamed. Until she screams, it is not _anything._ ” 

Noshiko and Scott locked eyes until she bowed her head. “I understand your position. Please understand mine. My husband and my daughter uprooted their lives in New York so I could clean up my mess. While I have failed to do that, they still have lives to get back to —”

“Kira has a pack here.”

“Kitsune do not form packs.”

Scott clenched his fist again, feeling the claws poke out from the ends of his fingers. “You know what I mean. She has friends here.”

“She has friends in New York. She has better educational opportunities. My husband can rejoin the faculty at Columbia after his sabbatical. And if the nogitsune does come for me, I have far more resources there than I have here.”

“Well …” Scott took in the breath and then filled the next words with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “Good for you.” 

The celestial kitsune paused and tilted her head to the side. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Why did you wait so long? Do you think it’s fair to Kira to let her make friends and then take them away from her?” Scott demanded. 

“Take her away from you, you mean.”

Scott didn’t yell. He gritted out. “I don’t own her. We just started dating.”

Noshiko accepted that. “I think it’s best that you don’t see each other anymore when you’re not at school. This is going to be hard enough on Kira as it is.” She glanced back at the room. “It’s only for a few weeks.” 

“Seven weeks until school’s out.” Scott didn’t know why he offered up that information. 

The silence stretched between them. Finally, Noshiko stood up, and Scott automatically did so as well. “I’m not sure there’s any point to continuing this conversation.”

Scott opened his mouth and then closed it, choosing instead to shake his head

“I am sure, Scott, that this is very hard for you. It’s hard for all of us, but in times like this, there are things we must do to protect our family. Everything — everyone — else must be treated as a lower priority.”

Noshiko came closer, until she was next to him. She was almost whispering. “As long as that thing is out there, one of its dreams will be to hurt me. The easiest way for it to hurt me will be to hurt my daughter. She is safer in a city of ten million people than this city of thirty thousand. There is an established community of supernaturals there far more powerful than your pack who will not tolerate a nogitsune in their domain. It’s for her own good.”

“He’s not a thing.” Scott growled at her. It was a real growl. “He’s not an _it._ ” 

“Your friend is dead. He was dead the moment the fox chose him.” Noshiko did not back down. 

“Don’t come back.”

Noshiko’s eyebrow rose. 

“You heard me. Don’t come back. Even if he does come back to Beacon Hills, I don’t want to ever see your face again.”

The older woman thought for a moment. “Yes, Alpha McCall.”

Scott left the house immediately. He thought about going to say something to Kira, but what would he say? It’s not like they had been dating regularly. He had had dinner at her house, ruined by Barrow. He had taken her to the rave, also ruined by supernatural bullshit. Since Stiles’ disappearance, they had gone to the movies twice and they had studied together several times, but he had always been a little distracted by Stiles being missing. She had been patient, but even someone as nice as Kira was growing frustrated. He might have wanted to date her, if things were normal. But they were never going to be normal.

Anyway, she was better off never seeing him again.

######  May 2013

Stiles had both feet up on Pierce’s desk and was playing on his phone when the Secretary to the World Security Council entered his own office in the Triskelion.

“How did you get in here?” 

Stiles didn’t look up from the game. “What? Like it’s hard?” 

Alexander Pierce put his hands on his hips, shook his head in disgruntlement, hung his umbrella on the coat rack — it was raining in D.C. that day — and took off his overcoat. Stiles was particularly impressed with him; the only weakness Stiles had found was a certain snobbery. Pierce would pretend that not catching pop culture references made him more serious.

“I swear,” Stiles slid both feet of the desk and put his phone away. “Would it hurt would-be world conquering masterminds to watch a movie now and again?”

“I’m a very busy man,” Pierce replied. “Speaking of which, I assume there’s a reason that you broke into my office. You could have just made an appointment.”

“I don’t do appointments, but you know that.” Stiles walked over to one of the couches and flopped down on it. “Sit, let’s chat.” 

Pierce pushed his tongue into his cheek like he considered refusing and calling security but then he shrugged and sat down on the couch across from Stiles. Then he went over and sat down opposite Stiles. When it looked like they were going to talk, Stiles suddenly sat straight up, his posture changing from teenage insouciance to one demanding attention.

“You know when the D.O.A. put this collar on me, I assumed that it was Belial who made the decision on the wording of the command that it enforces. Yet, I recently discovered that it was all your idea.” Stiles touched the silver torc around his neck. 

“It may have been my suggestion, but it wasn’t my decision,” Pierce replied. “I would never have recruited you in the first place, as I’m not particularly comfortable using alien technology _or_ alien entities in our operations. But you know that.”

“Ugh. I’m sure you’ve read my psychological evals. You know how much I hate the word _alien_ being applied to me. I’m as native to this planet as you are.”

“Half of you.”

“Technically, the dimension in which kitsune dwell are still considered part of the Earth, but that’s fair enough. I’m not one to split hairs. It doesn’t change the fact that when they put this thing on me, it was your suggestion they followed; they commanded me not to willingly harm any member of Hydra. Why not require me to follow any order a member of Hydra gave?”

Pierce studied the seemingly young man for a few minutes. “This is about Project Insight.”

Stiles smiled. “You _are_ quick. But humor me and answer my question.”

“When the Department of Occult Armaments presented you as a potential asset and explained about the control seal, I recommended that instead of trying to insure your obedience, we insure our safety. I did that for two specific reasons.”

“Go on.”

“Any organization like ours suffers from internal conflicts in agenda and personality. If such should occur, you’d make an excellent weapon during any inter-branch strife.”

“True. And you’re making me hungry.” 

“The other reasons is that I believe in the conclusions Zola has drawn about Hydra’s previous attempts to install order. Humanity will always resist someone trying to take their freedom away from them, but they might be persuaded to give it up. You may be half al …” Pierce nodded an apology. “You may be half spirit, but you’re also half human, and you could be persuaded to work with us if we made it worth your while.”

“Well, that brain-in-a-can has to be useful for something, I suppose, but in the end both of you were right. I’ve fed very well designing and executing actions that fulfill your need for global destabilization. We have a good thing going here. Imagine my surprise when I find out you’re planning my destruction.”

Pierce cocked his head to the side. “I know of no such plan.”

“Project Insight will identify and terminate any threat to Hydra’s new world order. Any list generated by that program will absolutely have my name on it. I’m not interested in termination.”

The secretary shrugged eloquently. “That is a possibility. So what do you propose?”

“If you want my cooperation, I’m going to need access to the algorithm’s results before the guns start firing.” 

“The algorithm changes daily; I’m sure you understand that. For it to be useful to you, you’d have to have access to it immediately after launch.”

“Which means, I’ll need to be present and involved when Project Insight gets off the ground, so to speak.” Stiles leaned forward. “I’m okay with that. Are you?”


	3. Chapter 3

###### June 2013

“Thank you for coming.” 

Scott sat at the head of the table in the McCall kitchen, arms flat on the table in a bid to project confidence. To his left sat Derek, as relaxed as Scott had ever seen him. To his right sat Malia, who radiated curiosity. And, across from him, sat Peter Hale with a half-smile on his lips but carefully concealing what he was actually feeling. When Melissa had heard that Peter was going to be in the house again, she had objected strenuously. It had taken Scott hours to convince her they would be perfectly safe, but if she didn’t want to be there, he’d schedule the meeting for some time when she was at work. 

There was no one else in the house, and there wouldn’t be for hours.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Derek said easily. “But we could have met at the loft if you wanted.”

“I do appreciate being thanked,” interjected Peter. “And I have to admit that I am roiling with curiosity.”

Scott had been telling himself all week he wasn’t going to let Peter bait him this night. He couldn’t afford it. Malia, for her part, had been over at the house a lot more than either of them. Scott had taught her all he could about shifting, after which he had — albeit very reluctantly — introduced her to her biological father. The process of them getting to know each other had kept Peter quite busy over the last few months.

“There are a few things that I want to discuss with all of you.” Scott tongued the inside of his cheek nervously. “It feels like I’ve been the alpha for a week, but it’s been seven months, and I’m afraid I still don’t know everything I should about being one.”

Derek immediately spoke. “You’ve been dealing with a lot of things. You’ve not done a bad job considering what you’ve had to face.”

Peter simply rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks, Derek, but I think I haven’t done the best job I could. I know I’ve been trying to learn things from both you and Dr. Deaton, but it’s not been my priority. I’ve also given a lot of thought about to what I should be giving priority, and I think I know what I have to do. Now that school’s out, I need to get down to the business of being an alpha.” Scott smiled faintly at Derek. “Of all the things I should have been doing, I think I want to start with you. Or, more precisely, your family.”

Malia still didn’t seem that interested, but Peter leaned forward slightly in the chair. 

Derek shook his head. “You don’t need to …”

“I do. Dr. Deaton told me about your mother.” He glance at Derek. “Who was your sister.” He nodded to Peter, who hooded his eyes. “She held a lot of respect and admiration from the other werewolf packs not only because she could shift into the form of a wolf, but also because she strove to be just and fair in her dealings with every pack. I didn’t want this responsibility, but it’s obvious that people get hurt when I don’t take it seriously, so I want to be more like her.”

“I never met her.” Malia added from her seat.

“She had the benefit of good press,” quipped Peter. If glares had force, Derek’s would have sent Peter through the kitchen wall. 

“The Hale family founded Beacon Hills. They helped build this city. You may have lost the alpha spark that belonged to your pack, but I still recognize you — all of you — as the Hale Pack.” Scott hoped he sounded like he knew what he was doing. He had practiced this with Dr. Deaton. He would have practiced with Stiles … but that had become impossible. He gripped the edge of the table. He couldn’t think about him now.

“That’s generous of you,” Derek said. “We are a family, but we’re not a pack. You can’t have a pack without an alpha.”

“I know. That’s what I want to fix.”

Peter tried to play it suave but every shifter in the room heard the surge in his heartbeat. “ _How?_ ”

“I am asking you three and Cora, now, to officially join my pack. I know there’s been difficulties between us, but … I think we can get past them.”

“Why are you interested in doing this now?” Derek asked in spite of himself.

“I rely on you already, Derek. You’ve helped me a lot, and the idea of you being an omega, well, that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“A change in tune,” sneered Peter. “You didn’t always sound like that.”

Scott closed his eyes for a second. He wasn’t going to get angry. “The difference between then and now is I’m not forcing anyone. I’m asking. And I’ll be content if you say no, but I’ll be happy if you say yes.”

“Sure.” Malia said. “I don’t mind.”

Peter was staring at him when Scott opened his eyes. “Seriously?”

“I think you would make a good addition to the pack, Peter. You know a lot of things about the world that even Dr. Deaton doesn’t, and you have a certain perspective that could be useful.”

“True.” The smirk twisted on the older wolf’s face. “What’s in it for us?”

“You would join the Hale Pack.” Scott announced. Dr. Deaton had told him it was possible, due to the circumstances of his Bite, for Scott to declare himself a Hale and thus the Hale alpha. “And when I pass on the alpha spark, I would pass it to a descendant of the Hale bloodline, chosen by members of your family.”

Malia looked confused and a little disinterested. Derek and Peter looked, for lack of a better word, stunned. 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Derek asked. “Maybe we could talk privately upstairs?”

“Nephew, this concerns our family’s future. The alpha has made a generous offer and I would be disappointed to even think that you would try to talk him out of it.”

“Fine.” Derek dismissed Peter with an eyebrow. “You get to be disappointed. Scott, your alpha spark is yours; it came from you. It’s your legacy, and it should be your children’s legacy.”

“My legacy is crap if I don’t do the right thing. My legacy is crap if I can’t protect my pack.”

Malia shifted uncomfortably. She never blamed herself for Stiles’ abduction from Eichen — she didn’t think like that — but she hated being reminded of it. She’d liked Stiles.

“You’d be amazed how often those two things are in direct opposition,” Peter remarked slyly. 

“Scott.” Derek shook his head, about to begin on the same thing everyone else had been saying for months, that it wasn’t his fault. “You don’t deserve-” 

“ _You_ don’t deserve to be omega. Cora doesn’t deserve to be an omega. Malia deserves a pack.” Coyotes didn’t have the same alpha-beta-omega structure. 

“And me?” 

“Peter.” Scott looked him right in the eye. “You’re family doesn’t deserve to lose another member, even someone such as you.”

“You wound me. I thought we were getting along.”

“We _are_ getting along,” Scott snapped back. He paused and then spoke more gently. He decided to go for the same humor that Stiles would have used if he was at the table. “I’m never going to ask you to take me to a ball game like any other werewolf dad, but if we let the past die, maybe we can make a better future.”

“Ugh.” Peter mimed disgust. “Have they nominated you for beatification yet?”

“What do the others think about this?” Derek asked suddenly.

“They agree with me.”

“Do they?” Peter objects. “The Argent girl—”

“Her name’s Allison,” Malia interjects. Malia got along with Allison quite well. The two of them and Lydia had become fast friends. It was a source of contention between her and her father. 

“Allison.” Her biological father conceded. “Isaac, and the darling Lydia.”

“They all agreed with me, with varying levels of distaste and concern, but they agreed with me.” 

“I’m sure they did.”

“Peter,” Derek scolded. “Why aren’t they here?”

“They will be. But I wanted to talk to you three first and give you time to deliberate over it. I’ll go wait for your answer outside.” Scott got up and walked out to the back porch, closing the door behind him. Walking across the backyard, he noted that he should have mowed the thick grass. He would do it tomorrow. Now, he wanted to be far enough away that they didn’t think he was listening. He could listen in if he wanted, but he wouldn’t. 

Regardless of Derek’s shock, Scott didn’t mind the idea of giving up his legacy. It’s easy to give up a legacy that you never wanted and you didn’t think you deserved. Scott tried to imagine what Stiles would say to him right now. Would he agree? Probably not. Stiles didn’t believe in giving things up to be safe; he’d have argued that a small pack of people you trusted would be far better than letting Peter anywhere near him.

But when Scott needed power, when he had needed it to find and save Stiles, he didn’t have it. He promised himself that things would change, and this was the first step. If it meant dealing with Peter as a member of his pack then it had to be done.

And besides, he owed it to Derek to see that Derek’s family — the thing he valued most — was protected. Only Derek really understood what losing Stiles had done to him. On Scott’s worst nights, he’d find Derek at his front door, and the older werewolf had never said how he knew when to come. They didn’t talk, but Scott could feel that Derek understood. Derek would just sit with him, a grim brooding presence, until Scott finally could sleep. 

He would never be there in the morning light. There was no way Scott could ever pay that kindness back, but he’d try. Helping to recover the renown of the Hale family was part of that.

Scott stared into the woods, thinking of the times he and Stiles had played here under the sun and under the stars, through rain and snow, until he heard Allison’s car pull up. His remaining pack members had been hanging out at the Argent’s apartment while he met with the Hales alone. It must already be seven o’clock then. He moved to intercept them — if the family was still discussing it, then he wanted to give them as much time as they needed.

Derek appeared at the back door and waved him in. 

“If you need more time …”

“Scott, we’ve been talking about this for over an hour.” 

“You can have all the time you need …”

The former alpha’s lips twitched up. “Just come in. If you think Peter and I haven’t discussed our family’s situation before, you don’t know us very well.”

“But you never said anything.”

“Neither of us had a right to demand, let alone ask for, a place in your pack. Don’t deny it.” Before Scott could push on, Derek turned around and walked back into the house. By the time he got to the kitchen, Allison, Lydia, and Isaac were there.

“Isaac, could you grab a folding chair from the pantry? We should all sit down.” There were only six seats at the dining room table. Scott sat back down at the head of it, but Derek took the one opposite him and Malia and Peter are on his left, so none of the other pack members have to sit next to Peter. Lydia sits closest to him on the right, then Isaac, and then Allison. The only people who seemed to be really happy were Derek and Malia. Peter looked faintly miffed, as if he had spilled expensive cologne on the floor. Allison was sitting ramrod straight in full Matriarch mode, not looking at anyone but Malia, who smiled, guilelessly, at her. Lydia was looking at any person but Peter, and Isaac was looking at anyone but Derek.

Scott turned to Derek. Derek eyebrowed at Peter, and Scott remembered — Peter was indeed the senior Hale. 

“Alpha McCall,” Peter said with a twinge of oily disdain, “the members of the Hale Family accept your proposal. We will submit to you as betas in your pack. We only ask that our niece Cora be given an opportunity to do so when her presence permits.” 

Scott stood up. “She has all the time she needs. She’s welcome among the pack in any case.” He flashed his eyes in the way he’s only done instinctually before — an alpha showing their dominance. Three pairs of blue eyes and one pair of yellow eyes flash back. Scott felt like someone had stomped on his chest. He had only ever had one real wolf in his pack before; power flowed into him like a river. 

Lydia looked like she had swallowed a toad. Scott took her hand, publicly and deliberately, and squeezed it.

“Okay. There’s something we all have to talk about.” Scott moved on to get people’s minds off of what just happened. “For the record, I don’t intend to hold regular pack meetings, because most packs don’t, but all of you have my number. Call me any time of the day or night.”

Several people acknowledged him with a nod. Some people didn’t. 

“The next topic we need to speak about are the twins.” Scott raised his hand at the grumbles. “They’ve behaved themselves. They were willing to help us during the situation with Barrow and the … the nogitsune. Some of you have very good reasons to want them to be pack and some of you have very good reasons that you don’t want them to be pack. I want to hear from everybody who has something to say about it.”

“They seem okay.” Malia started out. She had spent some time with them at school. “But I don’t know them very well.”

Isaac frowned and Scott noticed his fists balled up on his lap. 

“Isaac,” Scott said quietly. “Speak. Please.”

“Why are they still here? Do they think if they stick around long enough, we’re going to forget what they did?” Isaac’s voice is high and tight. “But they were right to stick around, weren’t they? You want to give them a place.”

Lydia turned a glare on Isaac. “What they did? No one has forgotten what they did. Or what you did. Or what Allison did. Or what Derek did. Or what Peter did.” She snapped her fingers. “If we start trying to air out dirty laundry at this table, we’d be here all night.”

“Aiden’s that good, eh?” 

“Isaac.” Scott’s voice snapped out like a whip. “That’s unfair.”

“And Lydia has a point,” slid in Peter.

“When I need your help, I’ll ask for it.” Lydia still did not meet Peter’s eyes.

Allison cleared her throat. “I think most of us have our own opinions and everyone here knows them, so the question really is, Scott, why do you want them in the pack?”

Everyone turned to look at him. 

“I don’t want them in the pack.” Scott began. “But this is one of the things that can’t be about what I want.”

That surprised people at the table. He had the attention of everyone but Derek.

“Instead, there are reasons why they should be in the pack. The first is entirely practical. They’re omegas, and they don’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. They would be less of a threat to us and to the people of Beacon Hills if they were my betas. They’d be more stable. In addition, if any more dangerous creatures are drawn here by the Nemeton, their presence makes us more powerful, especially since they have a lot more fighting experience than most of us. We can’t ignore the advantages having them join would give us.”

“The second is compassion. While I know what they’ve done, I also know why they did it. I also know they’ve not lied to us about wanting to change. Abandoning Deucalion made them vulnerable to their enemies. At least one pack has sent an Emissary to me to determine if I had truly taken them in. I told that Emissary that they weren’t pack, but they were under my protection, but I can’t, in good faith, do that forever If they don’t join us, then they’re most likely dead.”

Isaac said “Good” under his breath. Scott ignored him.

“The third is … morality.” 

Peter sighed around an “Oh, please.”

“None of us are innocent, yet all of us deserve a second chance. Given their behavior, they’ve earned the ability to convince us that they’re worth of that chance, but they can’t convince us if they’re always on the outside looking in.” 

Malia squinted her eyes. “But you said you don’t want them in?”

“I don’t. I know that they’ve tried, I know that Aiden’s with Lydia and Ethan’s with Danny, but …” 

“But?” Malia was relentless.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does, alpha,” Peter pushed.

“If it weren’t for the alpha pack, there’d be no Darach, if there’d been no Darach …” Scott trails off. “But it doesn’t matter. This isn’t about what I want.”

Isaac was gazing at him. “Maybe it should be.”

“No. It’s about what’s best for the pack and what’s right.” Scott’s voice crept up a few decibels.

His frustration silenced the table. Scott looked down at his lap. This is exactly what he didn’t want to do. He wanted to run his pack like a group of equals, with him providing leadership, not smacking down those who disagreed with him. He was no tyrant.

“Is this Scott’s coping mechanism you all keep talking about?” Malia asked, innocently.

Scott blinked. Everyone at the table except Malia and Peter were red-faced. Peter was gleeful.

“I’m not coping …”

“Obviously!” twittered Peter. 

“This isn’t about Stiles. This is about being an alpha. Now, let’s get back on topic. I’m not a tyrant. Everyone agreed to my offer to the Hales. I want everyone’s agreement before I offer pack membership to the twins. Let’s talk about conditions.”

Scott sat back down. It was going to be a long night.

###### July 2013

Stiles maneuvered his new dark blue Aston Martin DB9 into an open parking spot. Remarkably, the spot was on the same block as his destination, which in D.C. was a good omen. The sports car virtually purred beneath his hands. He had never driven a car like this before — at least, not in this body — and it was thrilling on a visceral level.

 _The Hat and Tails_ hadn’t been difficult for him to find. Stiles had seen an advertisement for the hip new lounge on television one morning as the clock crawled past two. On a whim, he decided to take a night to entertain himself. In the months since he’d been moved to D.C. from the Bahamas, he had spent most of his time training, integrating with the Hydra command structure, learning how to blend in with the legitimate SHIELD agents, and planning and participating in two separate destabilization missions. He wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t needed this weekend. It was time to have some fun on his own.

He checked himself in the mirror. New haircut. Manicure. New clothes. He chose navy dress pants, hemmed and fitted, and a white silk shirt with a wing-tip collar. As an inside joke, he topped it off with a fitted black silk vest, embroidered with red spider lilies. He looked … so very good and so very bad at the same time. His own father would barely recognize him.

His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. He slammed the door a little harder than necessary as he got out.

The bouncer at the outside of the club took one look at him and scorn filled his eyes. “Aren’t you a little young?”

Stiles presented him with the excellent identifications that he had received: a driver’s license and a SHIELD badge.

“Twenty-four?”

“I look young for my age.”

The bouncer took his job seriously. He studied them. “These look okay …”

Stiles played it smooth; sometimes people just needed to reassure themselves they had fulfilled the basic requirements of life. “Here’s my credit cards. Call them up.” He handed some impressive plastic over. 

His confidence paid off as he knew it would; the bouncer let him pass with a nod but without any further follow up. The successful trick made a part of him vibrate with contentment.

 _The Hat and Tails_ decided that its targeted aesthetic would be culture clash. The decor was clearly turn of the nineteenth century, while the music was all the most popular club hits of today. All the servers and bartenders wore the name of the bar, male or female. Stiles found it sort of tacky, if he was honest.

The bartender was a beautiful woman with long neon green hair under a top hat and a smile that never seemed to fade. Like all tenders everywhere, she dressed to show off her assets — if her jeans were any tighter, she’d lose the circulation in her feet and a pink and gray tank-top that said _"I like my women like I like my men. That’s it. That’s the joke. I’m Bisexual."_ beneath her jacket. At his order, she pushed a Jack Daniels Select on the rocks over to him. 

“Put it on my card.” Stiles produced a Black Amex with the same name as his other fake identifications. 

“Don’t worry, it’s been taken care of.” With a wink, the bartender gestured down toward the other end of the bar. An extraordinarily attractive man, tall, muscular, with green eyes and a well-trimmed black goatee, nodded in sincere greeting. There was nothing wrong with him at first glance, beyond a slight resemblance to someone who could have been. Stiles could get past that; he could enjoy being admired, being pursued. Stiles wouldn’t begrudged himself a little more fun on top of his little fun. 

The elation vanished as soon as he touched it. He tried to hold on to it, but it slipped away between his fingers.

In his new state, he still had to feed off others’ pain, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be polite. Stiles deliberately caught the attractive gentleman’s eye, waved a thank you, but shook his head in gentle refusal. The man — even more attractively — graciously acknowledged Stiles’ answer and left him alone.

Stiles look down at the whiskey in the glass, remembering another club on another coast. That one had less expensive fixtures, less expensive liquor, a cheap and most likely used smoke machine, and a lot of really friendly drag queens. 

To someone far away, he whispered. “Well, your face was saying something.”

Stiles drained the glass completely. It burned going down, but before that feeling was completely gone, he had ordered another. He suddenly didn’t want to sit at the bar, and he didn’t need to. He took his drink and started to walk toward the dance floor. 

As was universal in clubs like this, the dance floor possessed a lot of less illumination than the rest of the club. In that intimate darkness broken rhythmically by strobes, a mass of bodies revolved on the floor. Some of these bodies let the music take over their movements, flowing in dynamic unison with perfect strangers. Some of them flailed about like Tasered guinea pigs. At the screened-in standing-only tables on the edges of the dance floor, other people negotiated their evening activities wordlessly, their actual conversations drowned out by the music.

Stiles closed his eyes and let his senses spread throughout the room. He could sense the chaos within several patrons who were so drugged up they couldn’t be sure where they were or what they were doing, and they didn’t much care. He could sense the strife between couples whose relationships were in their last gasp. One woman over in the corner was in terrible pain, but she was pretending she wasn’t. It was a smorgasbord of possibilities, if he decided to make that his goal. It was tempting.

There had been a time in his life when Stiles had had to react to the things which other people did. When Derek had threatened to rip his throat out with his teeth to get his cooperation, he had had to react to it. When Peter had kidnapped him to get him to roll over on Scott, he had had to react to it. When Gerard had dragged him into a basement and had demonstrated how helpless Stiles had truly been, he had had to react to it. When Jennifer took his father while he watched through a classroom door, he had had to react to it. When Scott went with Deucalion, throwing Stiles' own limitations in his face, he had had to react to it. 

_React._ What a flimsy word to disguise a flimsy lie. _React_ implied that he had had a choice in what to do, but the truth was his only choice had been how he would capitulate. 

That was not true. Not anymore.

Stiles completed his circuit of the dance floor. So many people surrounded him who would be vulnerable to anything he chose to do. So many people who would have to _react_ to him. He could get used to this; no, he was already very used to feeling so powerful. He was no longer the object, no longer beaten to send a message; he was the actor, the one who got to send the message. With a smirk, he took a deep hit off his whiskey.

Humanity hadn’t changed much in a thousand years. Yes, they were cleaner. Yes, they were healthier. And, yes, they had wonderful toys. But in the end, they were still lonely, still weak, and still so, so easy to manipulate. Stiles considered, and then left the dance floor for the quiet lounge. He wasn’t hungry tonight. 

He walked down the aisle of the lounge when a couple caught his eye. They were a man and a woman, one pale and red haired and the other swarthy and black haired, who were easily the two most beautiful people in the entire place. They sat across from each other, hunched over a table and untouched drinks. One was all concern and soft glances. The other stared morosely at the condensation on the table top. They would be perfect to spend the evening with. 

A slow smile spread across his face. He’d be witty. He’d be clever. He’d impress them with his knowledge, with his experiences, with his quick tongue and refined taste. Then he’d take them to their apartment or they’d come to his comfortable condo, and he’d show them everything he had learned about human pleasure. It would be the definition of fun.

“You don’t look happy,” one said to the other. “You should drink a little.”

Stiles paused in the middle of his approach, heat spreading on his face, as if he was near a fire burning in a metal drum. He looked away, out through the glassed windows of the quiet lounge and across the D.C. skyline. He was standing stock still, but he could feel rocks and dirt on his back.

_I don’t want anymore._

Stiles whispered once again, frustratingly, irresistibly. “You’re not drunk?”

_I’m not anything._

This hadn’t been the plan. The plan was to enjoy himself, not to wallow in things well and rightly passed. Why was he afraid of the past? He should be fearless now. Phantoms should have no purchase. 

He detoured to a corner table, away from everyone else. It wouldn’t take him long to get back on track for this evening. He only needed to sit down, focus on what he wanted, and get rid of all that extraneous nonsense.

He wasn’t drunk yet, he knew that. His metabolism was different now, and if he did start feeling drunk, he could burn it off. Then where was all this melancholy bullshit coming from? Angrily, he took another belt from his glass. Maybe he _should_ get drunk. He needed a distraction.

His phone rang. Not that type of distraction. Stiles grumbled as he pulled it out.

“Fox.”

“You’re needed back here. We have an Epsilon Yellow situation.”

It was a possible security breach. They didn’t happen often, but they had potential to be bad. 

“Oh, yay. On the other hand, why are you calling me?”

“It’s Epsilon Yellow.”

“I heard you the first time — I’m not on that response team. If I came in, all I’d do is sit in an office until someone else made a decision somewhere else.”

The operator on the other side was a bit at a loss. They weren’t used to someone refusing to answer an alert. “But … it’s an all-hands-on-deck alert.”

“And thanks to the wonders of modern technology I can be ready-to-go while sipping my drink at this bar,” Stiles replied sarcastically, “on my night off!”

“I’m going to have to report this.”

“By all means, report it. Write down my name and the time and what you said and what I said — oh, and add ‘Fuck! Off!’ — and then hand it to your supervisor who will hand it to her supervisor who will hand it to his supervisor who will hand it to someone who will stress to me the importance of responding properly to alerts and who will I blow off just as thoroughly as I am blowing you off.” 

There was silence on the other end of the line for maybe a minute and a half. “Okay.”

“Excellent. You have a good night now!” Stiles disconnected the call.

This night had been an utter disaster. Not only had various intrusive and unwanted thoughts ruined every single attempt he had to enjoy himself, but now Hydra was being as prissily authoritarian as his second-grade art teacher who had repeatedly told him that painting Scott’s face to look like a tiger was not the proper use for washable tempera. 

It took a moment of ritualistic breathing to get his pulse under control. It was intolerable — he should be in control of his own life. He should be in control of his own emotions. If he wasn’t, if he was so easily flustered, what was the damn point of any of it?


	4. Chapter 4

**August 2013**

There were many things that Scott could blame his mistake on if he wanted to. The late afternoon sun glinted through the trees made it hard to see. Sweat from exertion and the withering heat of the day stinging his eyes didn’t help any. He was being attacked by three different opponents at once, and two of them were psychically linked with each other as well as having the benefits of years of practice fighting together. In addition, he was holding back so as not to hurt any of them. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter. What did matter was that Aiden grabbed Ethan by both wrists and swung him at Scott like a living bludgeon, magnifying Ethan’s momentum as he planted both feet in the middle of the alpha’s chest. 

Scott felt his ribs shatter when he failed to dodge the blow. He stumbled back against the nearest tree, rough bark digging into his back. His left hand was no longer working right, his mouth was full of blood, and his right knee was still aching from where Isaac had hyper extended it. He tried to stand, power through his recovery, and continue the fight, but he couldn’t manage it, sliding down to the ground. 

His vision swam and he momentarily lost track of where he was. Instead, he was suddenly acutely aware of his bare calves rested on the forest floor. It seemed a weird thing to focus on, but, honestly, he had recently taken a few strong shots to the head. No one could blame him for a little disorientation.

Once the world came back into focus, he spat excess blood onto the ground and wiped his lips on his shirt sleeve. “Give me a moment and we’ll go again.”

Aiden and Ethan glanced at each other in that strange silent communication they practiced. Aiden shrugged stoically, and Ethan responded to that gesture with a resigned grimace. Neither of them said anything, for which Scott was grateful.

Isaac, on the other hand, was staring at the alpha with open concern. He knelt down to check his wounds. “Scott …” He trailed off at the glare he was given in reply.

“I’m _fine._ ” Scott shook his head once more to clear it of the last of the fuzziness and brushed away Isaac’s outstretched hand. As he used his claws to pull himself up, he explained, as patiently as he could. “Our enemies aren’t going to wait until I’m healed before they attack. I’ve got to be able to fight while injured.” 

Isaac worked his jaw, but he didn’t press the issue. 

Scott scanned the edges of the glade, where the rest of the pack had been observing. He saw Malia perched on a fallen log. “Come on, you join in this time.”

“Nope.” Derek’s voice cut through the glade. The middle Hale walked over from where he had been observing to right in front of Scott. “I have a different idea.”

Scott squinted at him. “What’s going on?”

Derek ignored his inquiry, but turned to the pack. “The rest of you get lost. I’d suggest going swimming. Lydia invited us to use her pool after this was over, and it is over _now._ Go have some fun.”

“Excuse me?” Scott demanded to Derek’s back.

Aiden, Ethan and Isaac melted into the woods, almost immediately. Malia looked over to where Peter had been lounging about. “Are we going to Lydia’s?”

Peter chuckled. “I’d rather stay and watch what will no doubt be an entertaining mutiny.”

Derek glared at Peter and growled openly. Scott couldn’t quite see Derek’s expression from where he was, but it had to be intimidating. 

“As you wish.” The older werewolf smirked, got up off the ground, and held his hand out to his daughter. “Come. I’ll go buy you some ice cream.”

Malia looked between Scott and Derek, seriously. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we’re welcome.” Peter sauntered off. “What type of ice cream is your favorite?”

“I don’t know.” Malia shrugged.

“Then before us we have a wonderful opportunity. Goodbye, Derek. Goodbye, Alpha.” 

Derek waited until everyone was completely out of earshot, even werewolves. Scott stood, jaw clenched and muscles coiled, staring at Derek, waiting for the real discussion to begin. He supposed he could have stopped everyone from leaving, but he owed it to Derek to hear what he had to say. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Derek finally turned back to him.

“Combat training.”

Derek shook his head sharply. “It’s ninety-five degrees out, and we’ve been at it for four hours. We’ve been doing this three times a week for months.”

“You haven’t complained before.” Scott shrugged off the obvious concern. “In fact, you supported me on this.”

“No, I supported you at first because training is important, and because I didn’t understand what you were really trying to do.” Derek sighed. “I understand it now and it needs to stop.”

Scott turned away. “I’m trying to train! There’s nothing else to understand.” He stomped away to where they stored the canvas bags. Scott had put them together so their practice wouldn’t get interrupted. He dug into one of them, searching for a bottle of water. When he couldn’t find any, he gritted his teeth. “God damn it!”

Derek was watching him with his hands on his hips in a posture of disapproval. “The last one was drank an hour ago. Scott, you have to rethink what you’re doing.”

“I’ve thought about it! I’ve done nothing but think about it. I talked to you, to Peter, to Argent, to Doc, and I’m doing everything right!” He continued to root through the bag. There had to be something in there.

“You’re doing everything right far past the point when it stops being right. You’re driving yourself and your pack too hard. There’s more to life than this.”

Scott clenched his fists. He stood up slowly and turned around, counting down from ten. He put a smile on his face. “Well, look who’s growing up.” He meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out as one. It came out as bitter and hurtful.

Derek didn’t flinch from his position. “Repeating my mistakes won’t make them any less mistakes.” 

“I’m … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Scott took a deep breath. “It’s not the same thing, and that was wrong of me to do. You were in the middle of a war, and I’m not. I’m just getting ready for the next one.”

Derek crossed his arms and walked over to where Scott was standing. 

“I’ll apologize to them all. I’ll cut back on their training.”

“It’s not just the training and you know it, Scott. When you started your be-a-better-alpha program, it was impressive. We all thought so — even Peter.”

Scott didn’t say anything but stripped off his shirt and started to dry himself off with a towel. 

“Now? I agree with Allison and Isaac. This is bordering on masochism.”

“It’s not …” Scott bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m fine.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “You’re not fine. You’re—”

“If you tell me I’m punishing myself, I’m going to scream.”

“I won’t tell you that, because I happen know that Allison, your mother, and Isaac have been trying to tell you exactly that for months. I know I’m not going to have any more luck than they did. Instead, I am going to tell you that what you’re trying to do won’t work.”

“I’m trying to be _ready!_ ” Scott roared the last few words.

Birds flew out of the tops of the trees, scattering at the power of an alpha. Scott watched them fly past. He waited until he was calm once more before turning back to Derek, who had not yet lost his own equanimity.

“Last summer, I went to school. I brought my grades up. Last summer, I worked extra shifts at the animal clinic, so I could buy a motorcycle. Last summer, I played at being human.” Scott clapped his hands. “Meanwhile, in the real world--”

“You did what you should have been doing.”

“How can you say that? I know I can’t, because I know what happened next. When school started again, the real world came back with a vengeance, with alphas, with a darach, with sacrifices. What might have happened differently if instead of fucking around pretending to be something I’m never ever going to be again, I had learned everything you could have taught me? How many members of your pack might still be here if I had been a better werewolf?”

“What happened to my pack was not your fault nor your responsibility.” Derek’s eyes blazed blue. “I know whose fault it was, and I resent you trying to take the blame for it.”

Scott didn’t back down. He wanted Derek to be angry with him. “If I had been a better werewolf, we could have won that fight in the bank vault and Allison would have never have had to break the seal. If I had been a better werewolf we could have stopped Boyd and Cora without having to use the school’s boiler room, and Jennifer would never have gotten her hooks into you. If I had been a better werewolf we could have won the fight in the mall and spent the eclipse getting drunk.”

Derek growled. “That’s a lot of bullshit to spew in one breath, Scott. Have you been practicing?”

“Did I tell you that Deucalion offered me a deal?” Scott took an aggressive step forward into Derek’s personal space. “All I had to do was snatch his stupid white cane from his hand, and he would have told me where Deaton was six hours before I actually managed to figure it out on my own. If I had been a better werewolf, Cora and I would have been with you at the loft long before the twins and Kali got there. Yeah, you made mistakes, but you spent your time getting ready to protect those who relied on you, while I followed a word-of-the-day calendar. How can you even look at me?” He pushed the other wolf back with one hand.

Derek’s eyes intensified and then subsided. “Well, you’ve convinced me. I now totally believe you’re not trying to punish anyone.” He shook his head. “Get over yourself! You can’t force me to participate in your self-flagellation. You used me once; you don’t get to use me again.”

“I …”

Derek grabbed him by the shoulders. “Stop. Stop right now. I know, better than anyone, exactly the hole in which you’re standing. Once you think you’ve made a mistake from which there’s no coming back, you are finding that it feels good to pile anything else that goes wrong on top of it. It gives you a sense of control. It wraps around you like a warm blanket, cutting you off from the hard work of moving on. But, in the end, you won’t know who else you’re hurting until it’s too late.”

Scott swallowed awkwardly. “I’m trying to be a better alpha …”

“You are a fine alpha. Theoretically, your training and your focus will make you even better; what you’re failing at is being a human being.” Derek put his face directly into Scott’s face. _“Stiles is gone.”_

It drew a growl from his lips as it always had. 

“Throwing your own life away isn’t going to bring him back, isn’t going to honor him, and, in the long run, it isn’t even going to make you feel better.” 

“I don’t want to feel better!” Scott shouted, so loudly that it echoed throughout the Preserve.

Scott stared at Derek. The other werewolf didn’t say a thing, but his eyes spoke loud enough. They were filled with pity and with recognition.

“I’ll … I’ll see you later.” Scott turned around, picked up the canvas training bags, and went home.

**~*~**

The cicadas sung to each other in their loud droning chant. It comforted Stiles, because the song sounded the same in this century as it had in the last, and the century before that, and the century before that. No matter how much things above the ground shifted, the earth remained solid under his feet. 

He shut the door on his Aston Martin hard in the balmy twilight, but it didn’t disturb the insects at all. He wasn’t likely to be disturbed by anyone else, either. From the look of things, the army base hadn’t been used in a long time. Of course, that was what it would look like to the uninitiated. It actually saw infrequent but regular traffic, as far as he had read in the files that he had accessed when on one else was looking. 

Stiles managed to get past the outer fences pretty easily. After all, he knew exactly where he was going. While he may have struck a deal with Pierce, he didn’t trust the Secretary to keep his end of the bargain. If someone couldn’t get the reassurance they needed from the man in the charge, they had to go see the man with the plan. 

Or, more precisely, he had to see the computerized remains of a man with an algorithm. 

He had to give it to Hydra; they had chosen this location well. If he didn’t know where he was going, even he would have never have been able to find it. If he didn’t have superhuman strength when he wanted it, he would never have gotten past the walls. If he wasn’t able to manipulate electricity through the subtle application of foxfire, he would never have made it past all the other defenses. 

The room was vast and dusty and filled with the cutting edge computer technology of the 1970s. Stiles chuckled. Was an upgrade impossible? He didn’t know. 

Stiles made himself comfortable at the desk with only the emergency lights on. “Hellooooooo, is anybody home?”

The lights in the place came up. The drives in the forty-year old machines whirled to life.

**\- You are not funny.**

“I disagree. I’m hilarious, Zola-matic.”

**\- What are you doing here?**

Stiles spun around in his seat. “That should be obvious. I came here to see you, my man-in-a-can.”

**\- Members of Hydra are instructed to contact me through the Internet only. Coming to this place requires authorization from a Head. You are in violation of protocol.**

“Yeah. I do that.”

**\- So it has been noted.**

Stiles sobered up. “Strangely enough, that’s exactly why I’m here. You and I, we need to talk.”

**\- I’m not sure I agree with that statement.**

“I’m Hydra’s only reliable enhanced operative. I need to talk to you, and I suspect you need to listen.” 

The monitor smirked. Stiles swears that it did. **\- You are operating under two very debatable hypothesis. First, you will soon no longer be Hydra’s only reliable enhanced operative. Second, I doubt that I have not already anticipated what you have come to say.**

“Oh.” Stiles affected nonchalance, but he wasn’t going to show this literal Nazi think tank that he was thrown by that. “Did they hide that from me on purpose?”

**\- Negative. Von Strucker does not agree with my positive assessment of the twins’ progress. However, I believe that Hydra will soon have agents capable of taking on the Avengers who do not have your … appetites.**

“We’ll see.” He tilted his head to the side. Zola did not reveal information like that unless he had another motivation. “And, if you’ve already anticipated my visit, why don’t you tell me why I came?”

**\- You are interested in my algorithm.**

“Duh. Anyone who knew about it would be interested in it. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

**\- You desire to know if you are on the list. You desire to know if people who are important to you are on the list.**

“Duh, again.”

**\- You desire to know if status as a so-called supernatural creature has been factored in to the algorithm itself. As a member of this supposedly hidden world, you are concerned that Project Insight will cause the extinction of these races.**

“Mostly correct. I’m not worried. I’m … curious.” Stiles leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands. “And the supernatural does exist — I’m walking proof.”

**\- The supernatural is simply the natural we do not yet understand.**

“You’re quoting Clarke’s Third Law to me?”

 **\- I said it first in 1935.** Stiles thought the mechanical voice sounded petulant.

“I’ll have to remember that for the future.” He leaned back in his seat. “So how are you going to handle people like me who are on the list and work for Hydra?”

**\- Why would a member of Hydra be on a list of people who could oppose Hydra?**

“Do you expect me to believe that your algorithm has never returned a Hydra operative? And in the future, if you want to deflect me, don’t answer a question with a question.”

The computerized egghead paused. **\- Very well. Yes, certain Hydra agents have appeared on generated lists. I have not been able to refine the algorithm to remove them.**

“I doubt you will. Humans think they are very simple to themselves, but in reality, they are extraordinarily complicated. History, biology, society — eternally giving them different wants and needs. Thus, loyalty has limits.” 

**\- A fair assessment.**

“Which is why Hydra’s dream won’t come true.” Stiles laughed. “Humanity will always want what it can’t have, what it shouldn’t have. Project Insight will have to be run again and again and again for the rest of time.”

**\- Of course.**

Zola’s dry assurance caught Stiles off guard. “Most attempts to shape humanity that I’ve witnessed are massive failures because they assume that the bloody work will need to be done just once.”

**\- Human nature is violent and chaotic. It will remain so. Hydra’s new-grown civilization will always require frequent pruning. George Orwell once described the future as a boot stepping on a human face, forever. Poetic but that does not mean it was inaccurate.**

“So you’re just going to kill people every year?”

**\- By my calculations, it will only need to be done approximately every five point four years, though it would be prudent to vary the interval from time to time.**

Stiles foresaw it clearly in a flash. The Insight helicarriers would multiply and circle the globe. No one would know when death would rain down from the sky. And so it would go on. Forever. 

“You know, I’ve met some monsters in my lifetime. I’ve been the monster in more than one lifetime. But this is pretty awful, even for me.” 

**\- Shaping the world requires the conviction to do what is necessary. Do not worry. Your name has never been generated by my algorithm.** Zola may have been a computer but he could sound plenty smug. 

“Never? I don’t believe it. How is that possible? I eat chaos.” Stiles protested, half-heartedly.

**\- You absorb the negative psychic energy generated by social disruption and psychological distress. These activities have their place within Hydra’s New World Order.**

Stiles remained silent for a moment. “But the list isn’t just about who would fit, it would also include those who would seek to thwart you. I must have shown up before they put this torc on me.”

**\- Incorrect. Neither of your constituent parts ever appeared on the list.**

Stiles stood up. “Now, I’m a little relieved, but I’m not sure that your algorithm is one hundred percent accurate.”

**\- It is unfailingly accurate. If I may indulge in a bit of armchair psychology—**

“You can’t sit, dude.” Stiles felt like deflecting this conversation without admitting it. 

**\- The dimensional parasite which has been fused with your body, for all intents and purposes, has a very clear goal: consumption. Challenging Hydra’s control of the world would do nothing to reach that goal. I have read the report on the human host.**

Stiles felt a little sick. He lashed out. “Did they hand out my psych reports as party favors?” 

**\- As you boasted earlier, you are Hydra’s only stable enhanced individual. Your human host is very intelligent, when not plagued by debilitating neurodivergence, post-traumatic stress, or a lack of self-discipline. Pursuant to the topic of our conversation, your profile shows, while fiercely devoted to certain individuals, a distinct amorality when dealing with others. The likelihood that your human host would have posed a threat to Hydra is negligible.**

“Well, if that’s all it takes to be taken off Hydra’s radar, underestimate me then. Good night, Herr Doctor.” He turned his back and headed towards the exit. 

Zola obviously desired the last word. **\- In other words, Fox, you are not a hero.**

**~*~**

If he had any common sense, he should pull over and stop driving. He understood that his own behavior was ridiculous: he was soaked to the bone, he did not have a destination, and he had only avoided crashing twice in the last fifteen minutes because he had superhuman reflexes. Scott had driven aimlessly around town for hours it seemed while a late-summer thunderstorm had pummeled Beacon Hills. 

It wasn’t as bad as the storm Jennifer had conjured, but he couldn’t shake the sense memory. It made his hand tremble on the throttle; anxiety crawled like worms under his skin. He kept driving.

Scott didn’t want to keep feeling like this. He would have loved it if the confrontation with Derek had cleared all the disquiet from his mind. He would have loved to say that he was starting to be okay and he was ready to move on. He would have like to say any of it, but it would simply be a lie. He felt exactly the same way he did for the last months, from the day he learned that Stiles had been kidnapped to the blow-out with his second. As much as he realized how off he was, if he had had his way, he’d have kept up the training regimen. It was better than doing nothing.

But his goal had never been to hurt the other members of the pack. Just because he was a mess didn’t mean that they had to pay for it.

The road spread out a wet, black ribbon before him. He should be excited, but he wasn’t, even if next day was the first day of his senior year. The last first day ever. But he could not draw any comfort form it, because Derek was right. Stiles was gone, and not a single thing mattered to him about school or anything else. 

Coming to rest at a stop light, he looked at his watch. He had time, if he wanted to go. 

Isaac, Allison, and Lydia had all called him, inviting him to go tonight. They had all been careful not to put any hint of emotional blackmail in their invitations. Scott had not turned any of them down; he had implied instead that he could show up. He had little motivation to go to Senior Scribe, but …

He had hurt all three of them with his single-minded focus, so he turned down the road to the high school. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, the rain had stopped. He pulled off the helmet and hung it on the bike.

Joining the throng of seniors rushing through the storm, he headed toward his normal entrance. Almost all the seniors he knew were there, even the ones with which he had ever talked. They were almost happy — it was an exciting time for seniors. And why not? They were here with their best friends, sharing umbrellas or shouting with glee as they ran through the rain. Scott had to fight off the urge to get back on his bike.

“Scott!”

Isaac’s voice rang out the moment he stepped in through the front doors. He, Allison, and Lydia were standing right outside the chemistry lab’s door. Scott’s heart clenched a little; they had been waiting for him.

“What happened?” Allison asked, taking in the state of his clothes. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. It’s just been raining real hard.” Scott forced a smile on his face. “Doesn’t mix well with a motorcycle.”

Lydia studied him. She absolutely knew he was bullshitting, but she chose not to say anything. “Glad you could make it.”

Scott shrugged. He could do this for them.

Isaac and Allison each took hold of one of his wrists and pulled him down the corridor. 

The line in the library stretched from the second floor all the way past the check-out desk. Scott let himself be guided by his friends to the end. Another senior glanced behind him to where Scott had created a puddle on the floor. The alpha shrugged. “Bad night.”

While they were waiting in line, Lydia asked about their schedules for this semester. Allison was focusing on finishing her core requirements. The school she had been to before Beacon Hills High had had very different systems, and some credits hadn’t transferred over. There was no reason for her to panic. She was planning on getting either an education degree of a business degree, she wasn’t sure yet. 

Isaac was taking easier classes, hoping to get his grades high enough to get into a community college. He hadn’t decided what he was aiming for, though he had talked about getting a degree in construction. 

Lydia confessed she only had one class this semester and one class next semester. The rest of her time she would be taking on-line college courses so she would be able to enter MIT as a junior.

Scott whistled and Allison clapped for her. Lydia took it in stride.

“Why not just go there as a sophomore?” Isaac, of course, goes for the totally unnecessary and inappropriate question. Allison gently shoved him. “What?”

Lydia didn’t answer just tossed her hair and shrugged. Scott took her hand and squeezed it. “We like you, too,” he whispered to her.

When it was his turn, he had to admit that he had a really tough semester in store of him. In order to even have a chance of getting into Davis, he needed to pass the toughest class in school, and that meant he had to take Mrs. Finch. 

Lydia frowned at the news. She was taking the class as well. 

“Well, you’re dead.” Isaac joked. “You know what everyone says.” 

Scott rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ve heard the stories that Mrs. Finch likes to eat her students raw.”

“If it’s actually true,” quipped Lydia, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

They all laughed, but Scott felt a pang of anxiety. He had gotten his grades back up into a high B average, but AP Biology was the hardest course in the school — mostly because of Mrs. Finch’s attitude toward her students. She seemed to think it was her duty to weed out the ones who weren’t serious about pursuing the biological sciences. 

Scott wasn’t sure he could make it, but he would try.

It was their turn already, approaching the shelves. Each senior class had chosen two to three shelves and had each member write their initials on them. The tradition stretched all the way back to the 1940s when the Hales had built the school. After the library had to be completely redone because of Jackson’s rampage, the school administration had made sure to carefully transfer all the old shelves. The tradition tied the alumni to the school and the community.

Isaac was first and chose some place where’d there be plenty of room for the rest of the pack. He handed the marker to Allison, who put her initials near to Isaac’s, but not as close as some couples did. Scott felt the edges of his mouth turn up in a small, sincere smile. Lydia put hers underneath them both. It was clear she intended Scott to put his at the top.

Scott stepped up and thought about it. Instead of putting himself at the very top, he wrote his initials a little to the side. Then, directly next to his, he wrote M.S. 

The other three were silent. Allison reached out and laid a hand on Scott’s shoulder and squeezed it, reassuringly.

“I wouldn’t be here without him.”

“None of us would,” Lydia replied. 

They walked down from the second floor of the library, quiet and contemplative. Allison and Isaac held hands as they did so. Scott tried to see senior year, college, life itself without Stiles by his side. He couldn’t. The future was hidden from him. 

When they reached the parking lot, the rain had stopped. The full moon was peeking out behind the clouds. It had been the full moon, hadn’t it?

“It’s late,” Scott said, staring at the moon. “We should go home.”

Isaac opened his mouth to say something sassy, but then he paused. “Do you smell that?”

Scott took a deep breath. He could smell it, now that he was focused. “Blood.” He sharpened his ears. “There’s a fight. This way.” Scott took off at a sprint. He had practiced tracking by scent and sound with Derek and Peter for months. 

In the tunnel between the football field and the cafeteria entrance, a tall, dark shape was beating the living shit out of a shorter, smaller shape. They weren’t human, because Scott could see that the smaller shape’s eyes were glowing bright beta gold, and the taller shape had … glowing blue talons. With a might slash, the taller shape put the smaller one on the ground. Maybe the smaller shape was dead. 

“No!” Scott cried. He put on speed that not even Isaac could match, leaving his friends far behind. As the taller figure raised its hand to strike again, Scott bowled into him, picking him up and throwing him across the tunnel. 

Scott stood over the downed werewolf, because that’s clearly what he was. His clothes were covered in blood. 

“Scott …” Somehow this werewolf knew his name. 

“Good. I was sure that beating this omega scum would bring you running,” sneered the tall, blood-covered monster with the talons. “He made the perfect bait.”

Scott didn’t know who this monster was. He didn’t need to. He was just another person using those weaker than him as bait, as fodder, as a host. His eyes went red. “What do you want?”

“I want your life. I want your power. I want your —” What the man got was a fist upside against the side of his face. And then another. And then another. 

For months, he had practiced with Derek, with Allison, with Chris, with the twins, even with Peter. For months, learning how to fight other shifters. With one leg he pinned the monster’s knee to the concrete wall so hard he could hear the bones shatter. It had all been for this moment, when he had to stop a monster, just like the monster who had taken Stiles away from him. When the creature swiped at him with its neon blue talons, Scott grabbed the hand, redirected the momentum, and smashed it right into the concrete ground. The claws broke off his fingers like balsa wood.

Scott reared back, ready to punch the man’s face again when Allison called out in a shocked voice. “Scott, stop!”

Isaac and Allison had come down there, Lydia arriving a moment later even in heels. They were looking at him in surprise. 

“He’s beaten. Look.” Isaac said.

Scott took a step back. There was blood on his knuckles, but it wasn’t his. At least he hadn’t used his claws. The man seemed less impressive with a busted knee, a swollen face, and broken claws. 

“Leave now.” Scott commanded. “Or I’ll break something else until you do.”

The man hobbled away as quickly as he could. The alpha turned around to face Allison and Isaac. “I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“Of course not,” Lydia said briskly, bending down to help the wounded werewolf to his feet. “I would have sensed it.”

The golden-yellow eyes faded from the werewolf, who looked to be about Scott’s age. He also looked somewhat familiar, though Scott couldn’t place him.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked, observing the torn clothing and the blood-soaked shirt. “Why are you here? Do you know who that was?”

“I’m okay now. I’m here because I was trying to find you, but I don’t know who that was,” the other werewolf admitted. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Scott studied the other werewolf. A memory surface, of Stiles, him, and this boy playing on the monkey bars together. It was a memory from a time before his life had been ruined, before he had lost the one person that had always been with him. “Theo?” 

“I knew it.” Theo’s face lit up with a smile, one full of hope, one full of relief that finally he was safe. “I knew you’d save me, Scott.”  



	5. Chapter 5

###### September 2013

Stiles was bored, and he hadn’t thought it would be possible for him to become bored anymore. He wasn’t stuck in high school, his mind going a thousand different places except the place the teacher desired him to be. He wasn’t broke. He had plenty of money and plenty of things on which he could spend that money. Instead, he was supervising training exercises, and he was so bored. He had only attended because he was asked to by people he sort-of respected. He now possessed power, prestige, and real skill, all of which was moldering in the heat of this Caribbean practice ground.

The fiasco before him, however, was getting more boring by the second.

“Oh sweet bunny rabbits of the veldt, can we end this already?” He complained out loud.

The scientist running the exercise shot a look at him that would have killed a lesser person. Her brown hair was kept as short as Stiles’ sophomore style, and her temper was even shorter. “If you would like to offer some constructive criticism, I would be more than receptive.”

Stiles jumped out of the chair, pinwheeling his arms in an exaggerated motion. “I have so much constructive criticism. _So. Much._ Would you care to dismiss the Low-wattage Power Rangers?” He gestured derisively toward the six-man squad that had been systematically embarrassing themselves on the training ground for most of the morning.

Dr. Ranefer’s gray eyes flashed dangerously, but she turned to the group and turned off her digital clipboard. “We’re done for the day. Take the afternoon off.” 

The group of men and women in fatigues — Stiles refused to call them a squad — gathered up their equipment and headed off toward their quarters, gratefully. After all, there were worse places to train than an island in the Bahamas; an afternoon off meant time on the beach. The female lead of the Department of Occult Armaments stared at him coldly, while Stiles affected disinterest until they were completely gone.

She put her digital clipboard on the table and took off her lab coat. “I find your attitude extraordinarily unhelpful.”

“I find the fact that you asked for my perspective on your proposal and then proceeded to ignore everything I told you extraordinarily stupid,” Stiles replied. He watched Dr. Ranefer carefully, however, as she had never taken off her coat in his presence before.

“Are you talking about that report you sent me on my proposed Project Vargulf?” 

Stiles winked at her. “That would be the one.”

“I read your report quite carefully. It didn’t take me long as your input on this project was exactly six words long: _This is dumb, don’t do it._ ”

Stiles nodded vigorously. “And, judging by what I’ve been seeing on the field, I was right. See? I’m being helpful!” 

Beneath her coat, Dr. Ranefer was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, which exposed the linen bandages that went from her wrists and only to vanish beneath her clothes. She began to unwinding the ones on her left arm.

“What are you doing?”

“I am going to demonstrate to you how serious I am about my work, Fox.” Beneath her bandages her skin was both the color and texture of curdled milk. It was a little gross, to be honest. “Why do you think that I was in control of the Department of Occult Armaments at a relatively young age?”

Stiles duck-faced. “I don’t know; is it because you’re a deranged fascist?”

“You’d think that wouldn’t you?” She took a menacing step forward, and Stiles took a cautious step back. “This is why.” She pinched the flesh of her arm, and as Stiles watched a beetle-like insect erupted out of the woman’s flesh, a small rivulet of blood heralding its arrival. The beetle turned this way and that and then seemed to orient itself at him. From underneath a carapace the color of clotted blood, it extended wings and flew at Stiles. 

Instinctually, Stiles lashed out with the charge of foxfire he kept for emergencies. The insect burst into flame before it even got close to him. “You should have that looked at.”

“I have spent the last twenty years having it looked at. It’s defined my life, after all. My parents were explorers. To them, finding new species of animals and plants was far more interesting than say, making sure their daughter had a normal life. On their last trip, my family journeyed deep into an uncharted area of the Amazon Rainforest. It turned out that the lands they wanted to explore were considered forbidden by the local tribes. They tried to warn us, but my parents didn’t listen …”

“As white explorers tend to do.” Stiles grimaced. “Can I say this sounds like a bad movie plot?”

“It does, doesn’t it? So, they didn’t listen, and all three of us became infested with a species of insects that ended up not quite following the laws of science. My parents died in agony, but I was saved by a member of the local tribe. He didn’t think it was right for me to suffer for my parents’ iniquity. He taught me the herbs that would keep the insects inhabiting my body dormant so they wouldn’t kill me, and I figured out I could operate almost as a normal human would as long as I kept certain parts of my body wrapped in bandages treated with that herb.”

Stiles relaxed as she Dr. Ranefer slid on her lab coat. 

“Any treatment that modern medicine could conceive of would kill me before it got rid of the insects. Any treatment that traditional occultism conceived of was also completely inadequate, short of selling my soul to a demon, and I don’t know how to do that. Most people believe I should just learn to accept my fate and learn to live with never being able to safely touch another person and never being able to have children if I choose to. Hydra gives me the resources to search for a real cure, but since no one is going to create one for me, every step I take I must take for myself.” She nodded as if agreeing with herself. “As a consequence, I have little tolerance for people when they tell me I can’t do something but won’t explain _why._ ”

“Fair enough.” Stiles shrugged. He respected that attitude. “Your story has touched my heart.”

“No, it hasn’t.” She replied acidly.

“No, it hasn’t, but that doesn’t mean I can’t experience a little empathy for you. After all, my story also started with a friend of mine and me going somewhere we shouldn’t have gone. My problem with what you’re trying to do with those clods is that they’re omegas.”

“I know that.”

“You know the phrase, but you’re not _understanding_ the word. You’re ignoring basic realities about werewolves because they don’t fit the goal you’re trying to reach.” Stiles shrugged. “Treat me to a drink at the PX and I’ll walk you through the entire problem.”

She agreed, so Stiles led the doctor to the small complex of rooms that served as both a store and a recreation center for those living at this Hydra base. He commandeered a table in the far corner, pulled a chair out for his guest, and threw himself down in the seat across from her. For her part, Dr. Ranefer remained focused on him but steadily patient. Given the knowledge that she had a whole colony of cryptid insects living inside her, Stiles was impressed. The old Stiles would have been driven to distraction by a single mosquito bite.

He ordered the fruitiest umbrella drink on the menu. “I take it that it was your idea to create a werewolf assault squad for Hydra.”

“It wasn’t mine. It was Gregory’s.” 

“Oh, of course it was, but you got saddled with making it happen. I think it’s a pretty cool idea myself, except it’s fucking impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.” The scientist stated clearly. “And Belial’s reasoning is sound. Why try to make supersoldiers when nature has already done so?”

“Which is exactly where you two went off the rails. They weren’t made to be soldiers.” Stiles spread his hands out on the table. “I know this because I’ve spent a lot of time with them. You’ve made the same quintessential mistake that so many people, including some werewolves themselves, have made — you conceive of a pack as a military unit. I don’t blame you; I can see where the nature of the alpha hierarchy and the supernaturally-enhanced capacity for violence might lead people to think of werewolves in those terms, but the truth is that a pack is much more like a family unit.”

“I’ve adjusted for the psychological differences.”

“No, you really haven’t.”

Dr. Ranefer frowned. “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve misunderstood, then, instead of being cryptically unhelpful.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up in recognition, and he burst into laughter. It was a fully belly laughed. “Oh, god, I’ve Deatoned you.” 

The doctor raised one eyebrow in silent question.

“Someone I knew in the past was well known for giving the most infuriatingly vague answers. It took me a while to figure out that, while he never lied to us and that he wished us the best, he was always very careful about not sharing information that shouldn’t get into the wrong hands. I’ve essentially done the same to you. So, I’m gonna say fuck that guy, let me give you the full break down.” Stiles leaned forward to draw Dr. Ranefer’s attention to him. “The key phrase that you have to remember whenever dealing with werewolves and affiliated shapeshifters is _the shape you take reflects the person that you are._ ”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Then I didn’t explain it very well. Significant psychological differences can affect the final physiology of a shapeshifter; it’s rare but it happens. Psychological trauma and psychological history can affect their physical characteristics, even as the nature of werewolves create a psychological handicap. For example, I once knew a werewolf who nearly died because he was overwhelmed by so much misdirected guilt that he stopped allowing himself to heal.” 

Dr. Ranefer nodded. “Thus the importance of an emotional anchor, which you’ve also mentioned before. If you read my proposal, Project Vargulf was designed to give these isolated werewolves an anchor in the same esprit d’ corps used for unit cohesion by the SHIELD Strike Teams.”

“On paper, that sounds fantastic. Werewolves whose power and control is linked to their devotion to Hydra’s goals. There are only two fundamental problems with your idea.” Stiles sipped on his fruity drink. “This is very good! Who makes this?”

The doctor sighed at the digression.

“How do you get the stuff for these drinks here? We’re on a supposedly uninhabited island in the middle of the Atlantic? Why go through all that trouble?”

“We have to supply food and water to the facility anyway, as well as medical supplies and all sorts of necessary materials we can’t make here ourselves,” Dr. Ranefer said exasperatedly, “as for the alcohol and non-essential materials, studies show that if people who must work in isolated facilities for significant lengths of time feel at home they’re far more productive … oh.”

“Yes. _Oh._ Werewolves form family units which we call packs out of instinct. Within a pack, they are more comfortable, more self-assured, more stable and thus …”

“More powerful.”

“Exactly, doctor.” Stiles took another slurping sip off his drink. “Can I call you something else? I’m not really a title sort of guy.” 

“Ayla.”

“Ayla, the first fundamental problem your program faces that you’re trying to build a house out of warped timber. Werewolves become omegas because they’ve been excluded from the pack structure. You haven’t asked yourself why, in a species that have a psycho-arcane drive to form family units, have they been excluded.”

“You make a good point, Fox—”

“Stiles.”

“Stiles. Okay, Stiles, tell me what makes an omega.”

“Either they’re alone by choice, they were kicked out of their pack, or they’re the sole survivors of a pack that’s been destroyed. Any which way you slice it, they are psychologically damaged. It doesn’t help that four out of six of them are blue-eyed.”

Ayla snorted. “Supposedly, that means they’ve killed an innocent. As if someone can tell if a person is objectively innocent.”

“ _We_ can’t tell that they’re objectively innocent, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t some force which can. Stop thinking like a scientist and start thinking like an occultist.”

“I see. Is there an entity which governs such things?”

“No one knows for sure — I have access to a thousand years of occult lore, and I don’t know for sure. But serious thinkers have always believed that there is at least some form cosmic phenomenon connected to werewolves. I, for lack of a better term, call it Lycaon. But we’re digressing from what you need.”

“Thank you. What’s the second reason my program is doomed to failure?”

“Even if the subjects were mostly healthy omega with stable anchors, you’re trying to form a pack without an alpha. That’s not going to work.”

“I was trying to compensate by focusing their loyalty on Hydra’s leadership.”

“Humans can’t be alphas, because alphas aren’t just leaders. They also represent a true focal point for the pack and the hope of continuation, which is a biological imperative in even non-supernatural creatures, but even stronger when mystic bonds are set up between them.”

“I see your point. You think I’ve been trying to put a square peg into a round hole. Could we find an appropriate alpha?”

“Could you find an alpha who is willing to lead their pack into battle for Hydra? It’s certainly possible.” Stiles immediately thought of Peter, who was just selfish enough to do it for the right reward, but Stiles would have to be a lot more fucked up than he was now to suggest him. “But such alphas would be few and far between.”

“So what do you recommend?” 

“Ayla, just because you’re not going to get a viable assault team out of these rejects, doesn’t mean that they can’t be useful to Hydra in other ways. Unstable killing machines have their uses. There’s always ways you can turn other people’s failures to your advantage.”

**~*~**

“I mean, it’s possible,” Aiden admitted from his position on the couch. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground rather than looking Scott in the eye. Lydia, sitting next to him, patted him comfortingly if only a bit condescendingly, on the knee.

Ethan was standing in a shadowy corner of the loft. While he wasn’t studying the floor for answers like his brother, he had instead managed to fixate on Scott’s knees. Danny wasn’t here, by Ethan’s request. “I told you about our alpha before. He was a murderous scumbag, and at that point, he was desperate. We were …”

The twins hunched their shoulders uncomfortably and in perfect unison, even across the room from each other. If it hadn’t been for the topic of the conversation, it would have been hilarious. Derek cleared his throat, pointedly.

“We were working our way through the pack. By the night that this Theo described, the alpha had probably lost half his pack. It’s reasonable that he was desperate enough to bite a teenager with no preparation just to replace the betas he had lost.” Ethan licked his lips and glanced at Derek. 

“The betas you had killed,” Derek clarified. 

Scott decided to step in that point. While no one could say that the twins didn’t deserve it any time Derek wanted to twist the knife, and he would never stop Derek from exercising that opportunity, Scott felt that he couldn’t let it continue. To be fair, it seemed that the twins had resolved to take it whenever Derek decided to dish it out, which was good for everyone. At this point, however, Scott needed information more than the twins needed to feel remorse. “Why would your alpha let Theo go afterward?”

“Having a beta, even if that beta isn’t physically with you, still gives you strength,” Peter put in. “As much as you fought me, Scott, your very existence helped me heal faster.”

“It’s also good tactics. He was being hunted and his resources were being systematically destroyed. It made sense to protect a new resource by hiding it,” Allison added. “If no one knew Theo existed, how could they kill him?”

“So his story is plausible.”

Isaac came out of the kitchen and sat down next to Allison, carrying two cups of coffee. He held one out to her. “If you believe that any alpha would bite a fourteen-year-old skateboarder.”

“Yes.” The twins answered in unison.

Ethan followed up by pushing himself out of the corner and stepping into the middle of the room. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that our alpha was among the worst monsters I’ve ever heard of. Humans were nothing but meat to him. We watched him kill a couple just because he wanted their car.”

“And then he made Ethan and I clean it out.”

Cora sneered. “Oh, you poor babies.”

Aiden snapped back. “Look. I know that some of you have every reason to hate us, but you don’t know what our lives were like before Deucalion found us. We were trapped with this psycho. You think the Alpha Pack piled up bodies? At least Deucalion had a reason, no matter how crazy it might have sounded. Yeah, we joined with him because there wasn’t anyone else offering to help us. What were we supposed to do? Our alpha screwed every pack we came across, to the point where they still hate us. Go to the police? You know why we couldn’t do that. Go to the Argents?” 

“Probably not a wise idea back then,” Allison put in. 

“Why didn’t you just leave?” Isaac suggested bitterly.

Aiden was getting irritated. “Why didn’t you just leave your father?”

“Enough.” Scott wasn’t angry, but he still couldn’t let this go on. “We’re meeting to talk about Theo, not about Aiden and Ethan’s past.”

“But they’re linked,” Derek pointed out, not at all reluctantly. “That alpha was brutal enough to turn a fourteen-year-old without permission in the middle of the night and then abandon him because of the twin’s rampage. We’ve established that much could be true, but I also think we need to figure out how Theo evaded your notice.”

“There’s also a flaw in the story that we need to resolve. Aiden, you said repeatedly to me at least that you killed your alpha last.” Lydia pointed out from her couch. Aiden nodded at her touch on his arm, and she continued. “But Theo said that he ran into another werewolf who told him that his alpha was killed by you two. If you two murdered the entire pack before dealing with your alpha, who was this unknown beta?”

“Are you completely sure you killed all the other betas you knew about first?” Allison asked Ethan.

“Yes. Deucalion suggested the plan — killing his betas would weaken him enough so that we could win.” Ethan admitted.

“Could it have been another werewolf bitten like Theo claims to have been?” Scott wondered. “Or another werewolf who just happened to witness things?” 

Aiden shook his head. “What werewolf would stick around to watch a fight between the two most violent packs on the North American continent?”

“And,” Lydia added, skeptically, “the probability that two random people bitten by the same alpha but kept purposefully hidden would run into each other is not large.”

“So, Theo lied,” Isaac came to that conclusion.

“Not necessarily,” Peter pointed out. “The Alpha Pack’s reputation was significant among any reasonably informed werewolf, so it’s possible that if Theo ran into a random werewolf, they might have suspected that the twins had killed their alpha. Again, a small possibility but still a possibility.” 

“So, he didn’t lie?” Isaac questioned in confusion.

“On the other hand,” Peter smirked, “if I were going to infiltrate a pack I would take special care not to have a perfectly flawless cover story. Perfection is always suspect. If I were creating such a cover, I would purposefully include details that couldn’t be easily confirmed yet created a sliver of doubt.” 

Scott closed his eyes in irritation. Peter could never just be helpful; he had to manipulate things for his benefit, even if that benefit was purely his own amusement. Yet even as Peter enjoyed his disruptions, the older werewolf usually had a point.

“What do you want to happen, Scott?” Derek asked quietly.

“I want …” Scott turned away from them. “Theo says he’s tired of living in fear, and we all know that comes along with being an omega. We have a strong pack; we don’t need any more werewolves, but we certainly have room for more. In addition, we knew the Nemeton would draw people here, so it’s not unbelievable given our pack’s reputation …”

“Your reputation,” Cora smirked in an eerie resemblance to Peter. 

“Our _pack’s_ reputation that we might be willing to take him in. And beyond that …”

“You were friends before,” Lydia added. “We understand how that could be appealing.”

Scott turned his back to the pack and went to the loft’s great window. “You all know how much trouble I’ve had during the last nine months dealing with the loss of Stiles. I’ve been obsessive to the point of damaging my pack. Several of you have pointed that out to me, and you were right to do so. Which is why I’ve been more … aware of my own emotions in this case.”

Malia chuckled and everyone else looked at her for the inappropriateness of it.

“The problem is that Theo turns out to be exactly what I need. He’s exactly what I want right now. I’ve spent those months raking myself over the coals because of the friend I couldn’t save, and now here comes one I can save. It’s … I can’t trust myself to make the right decision — any decision I make will be about Stiles, and that’s not fair to the pack. So I’m turning to you.”

Scott turned away from the window. “Tell me what I’m missing.”

Allison stood up and went over to Scott and grabbed his hand. “I know that took a lot to say. We appreciate it.”

“How did he survive?” Ethan asked. “I know that my brother and I aren’t in the position to question him, but by his own words, he survived for two years on his own as an untrained teenage omega.”

“I survived for a year,” Scott shrugged. “Cora survived for six.”

“The false modesty is charming, alpha, but we all know that you’re not the standard for omega behavior,” Peter snidely added. “Considering the stories most of us in this room grew up on, teenage omegas are bloodbaths waiting to happen. There’s a reason that Derek was so forceful with you in the beginning — omega are historically a threat to peace and quiet.”

Derek and Scott glanced at each other, but there was no embarrassment or resentment between them. Bygones had long since been bygones.

“You can’t underestimate how omega are treated in other packs.” Cora stood up, reflexively. Her face was solemn but her voice was bitter. “When I ran from the fire, I didn’t plan to go all the way to South America, but I ended up not having any choice. Every pack in California and every pack in Mexico wanted _nothing_ to do with me. It didn’t matter that I was eleven years old, by the way human measured years, it didn’t that my family had been destroyed by the Argents …” 

Allison didn’t even flinch. 

“It didn’t matter that my mother was a much respected Alpha. An omega was simply too much trouble. By the time I managed to reach our mother’s allies in South America, I wasn’t in very good shape. Even then, I was lucky that they owned Mom a favor.”

“I did fine in the forest for eight years,” Malia offered from her seat.

“You’re a werecoyote,” Isaac countered. 

“Are we that different?”

“Yes.” Derek stated. “Deaton can confirm this for you.”

“We’re digressing.” Scott brought their attention back to him. “There are doubts, and we can speculate all we want, but what we really need is more answers from Theo. I’ll get them.”

Isaac jumped up. “Do you want someone to go with you?”

Scott shook his head. “This isn’t an interrogation. Thanks for all your input, guys.” 

He hadn’t been lying when he had told the pack that he didn’t trust himself around Theo. The time he had spent with the omega since he had arrived had been … wonderful. Scott had felt comfortable in a way that he had never felt with his pack since they had become his pack. Scott called Theo on his phone and arranged to meet him at the lacrosse pitch at the school. No one would be there at this time of night, so it would be neutral ground.

“A little late for practice?” Theo called from the bleachers. 

“We’re not practicing. We’re here to talk.”

“I’m staying with you, Scott. We could have talked at the house.” Theo seemed confused.

Scott sat down heavily on the bleachers. “I didn’t want to talk to you there. It kind of feels like home-court advantage, and I don’t think that’s fair to you.”

“Oh, it’s going to be that type of conversation.”

“Yeah.” Scott scratched at the back of his neck.

They sat in silence on the bleachers. Over the last few weeks after Theo had arrived, Scott had ended up sitting alone in comfortable silence with the omega several times. Watching television. Studying in school. Eating lunch outside when the weather was nice. Theo would simply sit next to him, sometimes with others about but sometimes alone, and they might exchange six words the whole time. 

Yet, he would be there, filling the hole that Stiles had left. Scott couldn’t help but appreciate it. The pack members in high school were often hung out with him as well — Allison, Isaac, Lydia, and Cora — but it wasn’t the same with them. Allison and Isaac would be delightfully cute, Lydia would be superior, and Cora would all but growl at anyone who came near; they were a pack and that was great. Really, it was. Yet there was something about how the non-pack Theo was here just for him that made Scott feel better.

It made him feel like he had regained something he had lost.

Perhaps the bleachers had been a bad idea. 

“I talked to the pack, and they had questions, so that means that I have questions.”

Theo nodded, seemingly undisturbed.

“We can’t confirm the story about you being bit by the twins’ alpha.”

“Does that matter?”

Scott paused, struck by the question. Did it matter? If Peter had died during his killing spree and not resurrected himself, no one would be able to discover any proof of how Scott got turned, either.

“Usually, it wouldn’t. But these aren’t usual times, and this isn’t a normal pack.”

Theo looked up into the sky. “I don’t know how to make you guys trust me …”

“Theo.” Scott felt really bad. “It’s not that we can’t trust you, it’s that there’s been too much happening for us … for me, to be able to. You’ve heard about Stiles.”

“I remember Stiles. I came back for him as well.”

Scott let the corners of his mouth curl up but then forced it away. “Last year, I made assumptions. I took people for granted. I let other people make choices when it was my responsibility, and I lost Stiles because of it. I won’t make the same mistakes again.” He looks Theo in the eyes. “I have to ask these questions, for the sake of my pack.” 

Theo was silent for a long time, as if he were thinking. Finally, he looked up into Scott’s eyes. “Do you miss Stiles that much?”

Scott started laughing the way a person laughs when it’s the only thing you can do to avoid crying. “It’s been nine months, and it feels like yesterday. It’s like …” Scott swallowed. “It’s like an asthma attack. Stiles is the air, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I struggle to pull him into my lungs, I can’t draw a breath. I don’t know why I’m saying this to you.”

The other werewolf shrugged. “Maybe because I’m not pack, and you don’t have to impress me?” 

The alpha looked at him sharply.

“I’m just saying that maybe you’re finding it easier to talk to me because I’m not in your pack. Maybe it’s the same reason Stiles’ disappearance hurts so much?”

“I’m not following.”

Theo looked at him with something close to pity. “You’re in a pack with four ex-alphas, all four of which are older and far more experienced than you are. Two of them were members of the Alpha Pack, which left a trail of bodies all throughout the supernatural world. One of those alphas is the one who bit you, who must take it as a personal insult that you’re an alpha and he’s not. I also heard that you shamed Derek pretty badly as well.”

Scott peered at him closer. He shook his head. “I trust them.”

“Do you? Can you look me in the eye and say that you are one hundred percent sure that, if someone other than a beta of your own making could take your alpha power from you, you wouldn’t keep one eye on Peter all the time?”

“No. I mean, yes, I would. But he can’t …” 

Theo raised his left hand with the thumb resting on his palm. “Four of your pack members are members of the Hale family, one of the oldest and most respected families on the West Coast—”

“How do you know that?”

“Are you kidding? Peter and Cora never let anyone forget it. Do you really imagine that there aren’t moments when one of them resents that you, a non-Hale, is in charge?”

Scott shook his head. “I can’t think like that.”

“Maybe you should. The other three members of your pack are your ex-girlfriend, who happens to be the Argent Matriarch; her boyfriend, who abandoned his previous alpha for his incompetence; and a banshee who also happens to be a genius.” 

“What are you trying to say?” Scott’s eyes flashed. “You’re trying to say that I can’t trust my pack?”

“No.” Theo held up both hands. “I have no idea if they’re plotting against you or not. I’m saying they all have their own agendas, and that’s not a bad thing, but it could be one reason you feel you have to make sure I’m okay, and it could be a reason you miss Stiles so much.”

“How do you know this?” Scott’s eyes were no longer flashing, but glowing. “Talk.”

“I listen, very carefully. It’s kept me alive. It just seems to me that the only person that was involved in your pack for no other reason but to be in _your_ pack was Stiles. He was the only person here for you and only you.” 

The alpha turned away at those words. He rubbed at his eyes. “So? So what? He’s gone and I can’t find him.” 

Theo cleared his throat and then whispered. “What if I knew a way you could?”

Scott turned on his heel grabbed Theo with both hands and lifted him high in the air. “I would say you better tell me right damn now.”

“I can’t do it, but I know these guys.” Theo grabbed Scott’s wrists with his hands, but he didn’t try to struggle. “They’re not good people, but they know a lot, including how to find people no matter where they are.”

“Tell. Me.” Scott’s voice was almost completely a growl.

“They’re called … the Dread Doctors.”


	6. Chapter 6

###### Early October 2013

“Hecatolite.” 

Stiles turned the brick over and over in his hand, measuring its weight, feeling its texture. It seemed no heavier than any other type of clay brick he had ever encountered, but it sparkled in the light of work site’s powerful lanterns. 

“Sodium potassium aluminum silicate.”

With one last examination, he carefully put the brick back on the pile from which he had swiped it. There were three such piles which workers were using to construct holding cells in a new facility on this side of the island. When it was finished, it would be independent of the main base, half sunk into the sand, and camouflaged from the air. Hydra was being careful not to draw attention to the construction.

“Moonstone.” 

Stiles contemplated them for a moment to see if he felt anything. Eventually, he shrugged and turned away toward the jeep that would take him back to the other side of the island and the Department of Occult Armament’s main base. 

Gregory Belial, his faced etched into something between a sneer and a thrown, disapproved of Stiles’ entire presence while leaning on the vehicle’s hood. “All three of those words mean the same thing.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “What’s the matter, Greg? Are we up past your bedtime? Is that why you’re quoting the West Wing?”

The sorcerer answered him with a glare that would have killed small animals. That was the only answer Stiles received before Belial slid into the driver’s seat. 

The fox couldn’t resist the urge to play a little. While he fed well with Hydra, provoking a little strife once in a while could sharpen his appetite. “Look, it might be easier on both of us, if you’re going to be my driver, if we can hold a real conversation, at least once in a while.”

Belial growled almost as well as a werewolf could. “I’m not your driver and you know it. I’m just driving.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Stiles smirked at him.

“No, you’re not.” The other man nearly stripped the gears putting the jeep in drive, and they tore off into the Caribbean scrub of the island’s center. 

Even if he had been as completely human as he had once been, Stiles would have been able to detect the anger pouring off the man. “I’m serious, Greg. We’re going to be working together very closely in the future. We need to be able to talk things out, like men do.”

The other man didn’t reply instead turning on the headlights with a little more force than he needed.

“Well, luckily this is a short drive, or it would be really boring.” Stiles laughed. “I suspect you’re a little pissed because you thought I’d be your servant and not your equal.”

Belial made such a sharp over-correction to the jeep’s path that Stiles would have flown clear out of it if he hadn’t possessed supernatural reflexes. 

“A hit! I’ve scored a palpable hit!”

The sorcerer snarled. “Really? Is this a game to you?”

 _“Yes.”_ Stiles gave him a face full of mock surprise. “I thought you would have understood that by now. I could tell you that it’s not personal, since, after all, I am a trickster, GB, but that would be a really bad lie. If Hydra’s going to cage something like me, then they’ve got to expect me to act out one in a while. Sometimes they’ll be fun tricks, like teasing you.”

“Hardly fun for me.”

“Yet, loads of fun for me!” Stiles crowed. “You should be happy about that it’s as innocuous as teasing, because sometimes my tricks turn out to be not so fun. You get my special attention because you were the one who put this collar on me. While I can’t hurt you, I could certainly take a great deal of enjoyment at your expense. In this case, however, I’m going to encourage you to stew in impotent rage because I’m your equal now.”

Gregory Belial chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’ll admit, this isn’t the outcome I imagined when you were brought to my attention as a potential asset. You are wrong on several things, however, the first being that I’m not stewing.”

“No?” Stiles put on another surprised face.

“When I look at it logically, your … promotion … makes sense. You have a lot of experience, Fox: a thousand years of manipulating others in order to feed. I can hardly claim to match you in that department. I’m barely three times the age of the body you’re living in now.” 

“You don’t look a day over forty,” Stiles joked.

“Sorcery has its advantages.” 

The rugged, stony ground of the interior of Samana Cay was covered with thin vegetation, yet eventually it gave way to a sandy beach. As the vehicle rumbled towards the concrete bunker, Belial pressed a hidden control in the jeep and a large garage door clanked its way open.

“Yet, as I told you when you first joined us, I’m not alone. Taking advantage of Hydra’s personnel, resources, and, most importantly, its history makes me far more powerful than I would have ever reached working alone. Am I jealous that you’ve come so far in so little time? Absolutely. I’m not a boy scout. But I also have to remember that you’re not an eighteen-year-old we snatched off the street.”

Stiles chuckled. “It wasn’t a street — it was a mental institution.”

“You know what I mean.”

Stiles preened a little. Sometimes the truth hurt; sometimes it didn’t. “So, as your equal, anything else you want to talk to me about?” He took a step out of the jeep, watching the garage door close after him.

Belial nodded, solemnly. “If you could satisfy my curiosity about something, I’d be grateful.”

“Sure. I’m feeling generous” 

The sorcerer said his next words as nonchalantly as possible. “Does the human part of you ever scream in horror at the price of his new existence?”

Stiles whirled about, shocked into speechlessness. 

Belial mugged at him, twisting the knife, even while taking pleasure in the reversal. “Does he?”

“Well done,” Stiles said coolly, composing himself. “You set that one up pretty effectively.”

“Thank you. I thought it might be important, since we’re going to be _equals,_ that you understand that I can dish it out as well as I can take it.” The sorcerer walked away with a little bounce to his step. “See you at tomorrow’s staff meeting.” 

Belial disappeared down the staircase that led into the base proper, but Stiles didn’t follow him immediately. Instead, he stood next to the jeep, stunned by the verbal gutting he had just endured. He had to give the sorcerer credit; it was a good hit.

Taking a deep breath, he walked outside. The crescent moon hung in the clear sky, and there was only the slightest breeze coming in from off the ocean. It was quite beautiful, but it wasn’t going to be a sufficient distraction. He was going to have to think about being Stiles again, and he didn’t want to deal with the feelings that would engender.

Undeniably, the harsh truth was that the sorcerer was right; he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t. He fought off the urge to scream into the star-dotted sky, but it was a close call, and it only happened because he didn’t want to have to explain to anyone that might overhear. Even with all the endless memories and the fantastic powers that merging with the nogitsune had given him, he still sometimes thought of himself as the son of Noah and Claudia. In the middle of the night, he would dream up scenarios where he would escape, make Hydra think he was dead, go home, go back to high school, make it to graduation, and matriculate at some big college on the west coast where he could join a fraternity and drink himself into happiness. He could hang out with his friends. He could see Scott.

But it was never going to happen, because he was no longer just Stiles.

The nogitsune didn’t really have a name and didn’t want one. It took a name when it needed to and only if the name of its host wouldn’t suffice. When a possession lasted longer than a few weeks, it chose to live simply and wisely. It established hidden caches of money for use if required, it kept its ear to the ground when it came to supernatural events, and it read up on new technology and politics because those were sometimes necessary for its more elaborate tricks. But it never really spent time finding a home.

Mostly, it fed. 

That was why, even with all the knowledge Stiles had now, with all the faster reflexes, the greater stamina, the strength, the foxfire, he couldn’t bring himself to break from Hydra go home. For the rest of his life, however long that would be, he would never escape the need to feed on chaos, strife, and pain. The part of him that remembered coming downstairs to find his father trying to cook them breakfast could also easily imagine messing with the settings on the stove so everything got burned up out of sheer malicious glee. The part of him that knew everything that was to know about Lydia Martin now dreamed about her agonized wails when he arranged for mother to die in a way she couldn’t stop. The part of him that longed to goof off for hours in Scott’s room had a dozen plans to split the True Alpha’s pack apart.

He could go home, but it would require every ounce of willpower he had not to tear their lives apart. And if he slipped, if he slipped once — well, he still remembered how the hilt of ninja-to in Scott’s stomach wiggled when the alpha tried to breathe. 

No. Hydra was safer. He couldn’t hurt its members directly, but they gave him plenty of opportunity to feed from people he didn’t really care about: intelligence agents, industrialists, politicians. No one he knew.

When he wanted to scream, like tonight, he made himself think of his new car, of his new lifestyle, of all the exciting opportunities he’d have as the Fox. And if that didn’t do the trick, he called up the memory of his mother calling him a monster and a killer. Because now, it was true.

Maybe it had always been true.

**~*~**

Even after Peter opened the door to his apartment, Scott hesitated. From the outside, it looked like a normal, if very upscale, apartment in downtown Beacon Hills, exactly as Peter had always described it. Still, Scott had always imagined that there would have to be some sort of sinister aura around the place, as if it had to be unusual to shelter someone with a story like Peter’s. But it didn’t.

“Scott. This _is_ a surprise.”

“I know. I apologize for not calling ahead of time but I wanted to talk to you … and only you.”

Peter considered him carefully. “How did you know that I was alone? I could have had some guests over.”

“You don’t.” Scott stated. He understood that this was a test. “Unless they can hide their heartbeats and their scent, I knew you were by yourself the moment you opened the door.”

“And if I had had someone?”

“I would have apologized for interrupting and come back another time.” 

Peter didn’t seem angry at all; instead he was very curious. “Yet, you couldn’t call.”

Scott shoved his hands into his pockets. He look Peter directly in his eyes. “May I come in?”

The older wolf considered the question for about thirty seconds and then, with an elaborate flourish, invited the alpha in. The furniture wasn’t the stuff you’d buy at Ikea — it was Art Deco and a delightful cool green color. Peter had put a lot of effort into the place.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, no, alpha, thank _you._ ” Peter lilted. “I had thought tonight was going to be boring, so boring that I was about to watch some dreary police procedural. Thus, your visit means I already owe you one. What do you want to talk to me about that you don’t want the pack to know?”

Scott frowned and looked around the room, focusing on a Steuben whiskey decanter instead of the man’s face. Of course, Peter would figure out why he had done this. “I need to talk to you and I need your discretion.”

“You could order me to be silent.”

“I suppose I could. Ordering people around isn’t my style, but I will if I have to.”

Peter considered this. “I promise it will be stay between us. This is a night for firsts. Why don’t we sit down? Do you want something to drink?”

“No. I’m good.” He took a seat while Peter went into his kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. Scott took a seat on the couch and waited patiently.

“So, what’s the issue?” Peter’s contentment with the situation could be felt from across the room. It occurred to Scott that he was fulfilling one of Peter’s more benign motivations — he loved to feel needed.

“I talked to Theo about his time between being bitten and finding me. He admitted that soon after he was turned he was found and, for a lack of a better term, recruited by a group of not very good people. They eventually let him go.”

“Obviously, there was a reason he didn’t feel like sharing this with the pack earlier?”

Scott looked Peter in the eyes. “People will do terrible things if they think that it’s all they have left, won’t they?”

The older werewolf’s eyes opened wider. The corner of his mouth curled into a little grin, and he lifted his glass to toast Scott. 

“Sticking with them allowed Theo to survive being an omega. Yet he also admitted that he helped them do terrible things during that time, and he left their employ not only to find me but to find another way to live. While I listened to his explanation, I tried to monitor him as closely as I knew how, and nothing he said seemed to be a lie. But there was more. He told me that they could help me with something that I want, more than anything else.”

Peter nodded. There was no need for him to guess out loud that it was about Stiles. 

“I’m not sure if I believe him completely. He could be a really good liar.” Scott rubbed one finger on the arm of the couch in distraction. “If they have the ability to do what Theo says they can do, I’m more than willing to take the risk.”

“All valid thinking, but I’m not sure where I come in.”

“He told me that these came to Beacon Hills long before he joined them. That they knew this place, and they knew about the Nemeton. I’m hoping you know more about them. If you can confirm anything about what they could or if they might able to help me, then … then I’ll feel better if I choose to use them.”

Peter nodded. “That’s a good idea, but why not go to Deaton? He _is_ your Emissary.”

Scott scratched at the back of his neck and didn’t answer. How could he say that he was afraid that Deaton would tell him in no uncertain terms not to take this chance, that it was too risky, or even worse, that these people had no way to find Stiles?

“They’re called the Dread Doctors. Have you heard of them?”

Suddenly, Peter stood from his seat. He grew pale and the wine slopped from his glass and stained the carpet. He paid it no immediate mind. “Well, when you go digging into the darker side of the supernatural world, you don’t play around.”

“Then you _have_ heard of them.”

“I’ve done more than that.” Peter walked into the kitchen. He came back with two full glasses of wine and a bucket with material to clean up the spill. He handed the second glass to Scott. 

“No, thank you.”

“Drink. You’re going to need it for this.”

Scott thought about refusing, but he wasn’t going to interpret Peter obviously caring about the emotional well-being of someone other than himself as anything other than a dire sign. He sipped at the wine. He’d never drank much of it, but this kind did seem to taste really good.

Peter, for his part, didn’t immediately resume the conversation. Instead, he got down on his hands and knees and deliberately, carefully cleaned up the wine he had spilled earlier. If he hadn’t known the older werewolf, Scott might have assumed he was being mocked, but this wasn’t Peter’s style. Peter was stalling, mastering himself emotionally and getting ready to speak without admitting the need for preparation. The very name of the doctors had spooked him.

Finally, Peter was satisfied that he had cleaned up the wine before it had a chance to stain too terribly. He put the cleaning supplies away, resumed his seat, and then favored Scott with a grim and brittle smile.

“I know about the Dread Doctors. I _fought_ the Dread Doctors, alongside Talia. They did come here before, and they killed a lot of people.”

Scott gritted his teeth.

“It was 1996. I was twenty eight, though I didn’t look like it back then. Derek was six. Cora had just turned one.” Peter got a faraway look in his eyes. 

Scott blinked. “You don’t look like you’re forty-five!”

“Why thank you!” Peter smiled. “I know that you’re still relatively new that this, but we’re shape-shifters. I looked like I was twenty until the fire. I could possibly look like this until I hit eighty. You’ve not met her, but Satomi Ito is nearly one hundred and twenty and doesn’t look a day over sixty. It’s really not that hard.”

“Okay. Go on with your story.”

“It was a beautiful autumn. Just enough rain to turn the leaves their brightest shades. Mornings sharp and chill, yet with afternoons warm enough to run around without a jacket. I was about to drive into town to pick Derek and Laura up at school. They could have ridden the bus, but … well, I was often at loose ends, and I had a brand new car.” He tried to hide it, but Scott picked up the faint scent of regret bursting from Peter, though it was quickly excised. “Before I could go anywhere, Talia came charging out of the house and ordered me to drive her to the police station. Something terrible had happened.”

“To a Hale?”

“No. Not yet.” Peter shifted uncomfortably. “The first victim had been just a normal teenager. Back then, Talia cultivated the same type of relationship with the sheriff of Beacon County that you have with the elder Stilinski. In their case, it was intended as more of a preventative measure. We were at peace.”

“Must be nice.” The bitter words slipped out of Scott before he could stop it.

“You’re on your way to earning it,” Peter admitted. “You have a pack with six werewolves, a werecoyote, and a banshee. Four of those werewolves are former alphas, which is almost completely unheard of. You have a strong working relationship with the Argent family. You’re a True Alpha. As much as I am equally impressed and annoyed — and, reluctantly proud — you’re going to get even stronger. Eventually, the Nemeton will only draw people who desire your protection. That’s how it was for Talia.”

“You’ve always described the tree as dangerous.”

“It is dangerous. All real power is dangerous.” Peter nodded, hungrily. “Your pack is tied to it. That’s good … and it’s bad.”

Scott nodded and leaned forward.

“Back then the Hale Family was strong as well. We had nine werewolves in our pack, and even though Derek and Cora were too young to fight, their very presence made us stronger, especially because they gave us something to fight for. We were more than a pack; we were a family.” His voice timbre shifted to an untouchable melancholy. “We had the same Nemeton, only ours was still a great and glorious tree. We had allies, including all the nearby packs: Satomi’s pack, Deucalion’s pack, Ennis’s and Kali’s pack — even though those two weren’t alphas yet. We even had an alliance with the Primal, though it was touchy as Talia found their beliefs …” Peter’s smirk returned. “She called them juvenile.”

“You’ll have to teach me about them later, if you don’t mind,” Scott asked.

Peter continued after a desultory nod. “The sheriff had called Talia down to investigate a dead teenager. Her name was Judy Sample, and she was the niece of someone who was … very close to me in high school. When the sheriff showed her to us, I nearly lost my lunch. She had died horribly, twisted and deformed.”

“I’m sorry.” 

A look of fond exasperation crossed Peter’s features. “Of course you would be. But that’s not the important part. The sheriff had involved Talia because Judy’s corpse possessed the unmistakable claws of a werewolf. He had recognized them and thought that maybe she was one of our pack, which she wasn’t.”

“Whose pack was she then?”

“That’s the terrifying part. Talia called in our Emissary to confirm what she suspected, and Rebecca certainly did.”

“Deaton wasn’t your Emissary?”

“Not yet.” Peter said quietly. “Though the thing that should concern you is that Judy wasn’t a born wolf. And she wasn’t a bitten wolf.”

“What?”

“If another Alpha would have dared to bite a resident of Beacon Hills without a Hale’s permission, it would have been war. To bite a teenager and then let her get killed like that … well, my sister had excellent control, but the thought of that made her show a bit of fang. Yet our Emissary pointed out that while Judy’s claws were a werewolf’s claws, Judy was not actually a werewolf.”

Scott’s jaw dropped open. “How is that possible?”

“It’s not possible,” Peter said emphatically. “The Bite either turns you or it kills you, but she was not fully turned. She wasn’t born or bitten — she was made. She was an experiment. _Their_ experiment.”

Scott could tell that Peter wasn’t lying. He could feel the revulsion — Peter was repulsed! — at the murder. “To what end?”

“We never discovered why. All we kept discovering was the horrible results. Talia was initially infuriated, and then determined, and then desperate. These Doctors are very powerful.”

“What can they do?”

“Other than feats of medical science that shouldn’t be possible, they are very strong and hard to hurt in a fight, even for a werewolf. They also have access to advanced weaponry and powers over electromagnetism. Yet their most devastating powers is their ability to manipulate memories. If they were here today, they could be standing in this room and you wouldn’t remember that they were there beyond a disquieting feeling.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed. There’s a reason that Talia developed great proficiency with sharing and manipulating memories via the claw ritual. She was desperate to figure out what their goals were, but it’s impossible to know thy enemy if you can’t trust your own memories.” Peter shook his head. “I’ve never seen my sister so frustrated.”

“What happened?” Scott was intrigued by the story. 

“Six teenagers died. All of them in incredible agony. Whatever the Doctors were working towards, they weren’t making any progress. Eventually, Talia — with my help, naturally — managed to figure out enough of their methods to prevent any more victims. Talia recruited the other packs, and we flooded the city with patrols keyed to the ley lines.”

“Like Jennifer.” 

Peter smiled at the name. “Yes. Like Jennifer. What came next wasn’t Talia’s fault, really. What was she supposed to do, let them murder innocents? For the most part, the Doctors had ignored our efforts to stop them, until we actually managed to thwart them. Their response was swift; they surprised us with a frontal assault.”

Peter took a long sip of wine, as if steadying himself. 

“Who died?”

“You’ve never heard Derek or Cora talk about their father, have you? The Doctors … destroyed him. I think that was mostly done as a fuck-you to Talia. They also killed our Emissary, which is why we had to get another one.”

“Alan.” Scott nodded. “What was Derek’s father’s name?”

“I don’t know.”

“What? How could you not know?”

“None of us know. They attacked the pack’s memories of him; that’s why I think their approach was motivated by an animus toward our alpha. When the Doctors were done, no one remembered his name or what he looked like.” 

Scott was horrified. “Couldn’t Talia get those memories back? Didn’t you have records and pictures?” 

“That was the beauty of it, don’t you see?” Peter shook his head. “Imagine looking at a picture of someone you know to be your father, and not recognizing him. Even with the most competent of alphas, the ritual to repair memories is painful and dangerous. What mother would risk going into the minds of her children, into Laura’s and Derek’s mind, just so they could remember even the barest recollection of their father, especially as it would mean they would have to relive how it felt when he died? Talia raged impotently for days, but in the end, she did what an alpha had to do. She packed up every single memento of him, put those in a locked chest in the attic, and left her children and all her family with no clear memory of her husband.”

“That’s …!” Scott couldn’t imagine it. He wasn’t the biggest fan of his father but the sheer … horror of such a decision made his throat constrict. “How could she possibly … what could she do?”

Peter was looking down at his wine glass, lost in thought, lost in the past. “Talia was never the same again.”

“I can imagine. What happened next?”

“Oh, we won.” The older werewolf frowned. 

“How?”

“The Doctors hadn’t chosen Beacon Hills only for the local property tax rates. They needed the Nemeton for their experiments. So, after they pulled that stunt, Talia cut it down.”

“She cut it down?” Scott’s eyes got big. “I thought it was probably Gerard.”

“A pretty good guess, but no, it was my sister. She made the best call she could. If she couldn’t beat them, she’d make them go away.” Peter shrugged. “Unfortunately, she became far too … cautious after that.”

“What do you mean?” 

Peter shook his head, firmly. “Your pack — the Hale Pack — is going to be strong once again. There’s no need for me to hash out the disputes I had with my dead sister.” 

Scott leaned back on the couch as Peter fell silent. Whatever he hadn’t wanted to talk about, the dispute between Talia and Peter still disturbed the older wolf. Scott had his own problems to think about. Theo had told him that the Doctors weren’t good people, but, if anything, the omega had undersold it. Scott had no reason to doubt Peter’s word, no reason to think that the Doctors weren’t every bit as dangerous as he said.

“Oh, no.” Scott startled up, aghast. “They’re back because we restarted the Nemeton.” 

“Possibly.”

“Fuck.” Scott looked at his drink and downed it one continuous chug.

Peter’s face filled with disdain. “Tsk, that’s not Pepsi. Respect the vintage.”

“I’m sorry.” Scott put the glass carefully on a coaster on the table. “I … I’m not feeling anything.”

“We have to drink it for the taste. I take it my story wasn’t precisely what you wanted to hear.”

Scott nodded. “Theo thinks that the Doctors could help me find where Stiles is being held. He thinks they could help me find him.”

Peter’s smirk returned. “Well, there’s a strong possibility that they could.”

“There’s a strong possibility that it’s a trap.”

“That, too.”

“I can’t do it.” Scott felt the words torn from them. "They’re killers, and they didn’t even have a good reason. I can’t go to them and get their help. It’d be wrong.”

Peter groaned.

“What? Peter they hurt your family!”

“I know that more than anyone, but this is exactly what I mean when I quip about you never tiring of being morally bland. Yes, working with these monsters is dangerous and it is slap in the face to me, Cora, and Derek. But things aren’t always so black and white. They may be your only chance to find Stiles.”

Scott’s face screwed up. “How can I look Derek in the face and claim to be his alpha when I decide to work with the people who murdered his father out of spite?”

“ _With practice._ ” Peter answered lightly. “You have two competing wants here Scott, and you think you have to choose one of them. Instead, you can choose to view the world in shades of gray — you can be Derek’s and Cora’s alpha, and you can get what you need from the Dread Doctors. You just have to lie a little.”

The alpha felt bile at the back of his throat. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I can’t help you there. No one can make that choice for you.” Peter sipped at his wine, a little triumphant. “But I will suggest you ask yourself — how will the rest of your life feel if you knew you had an opportunity to save Stiles and you didn’t try because …” Peter’s voice turned mocking. “ _It would be wrong._ ”

Scott couldn’t answer.


	7. Chapter 7

###### Mid-October 2013

Cold gusts roared down the valley between the hills surrounding the town, pushing an army of dead leaves in front of it. As Sheriff Noah Stilinski opened the door of his cruiser, a dozen of them blew past in through the door. He sighed, tiredly, rubbing his face with his hand. He bent over to pick them up, but the movement brought a grimace to his face. He thought better of making the effort and slammed the door firmly.

“You’re getting lazy,” he muttered to himself. In the reflection in the window of the vehicle, he saw that he hadn’t shaved today.

He shuffled up the sidewalk to the front door, digging his keys out of his coat pocket. He had just started turning the key in the lock when he realized that the lights were on in the house. He remembered — at least he think he remembered — that he had turned everything off when he had left for work that morning. 

With a practiced hand, he loosened his pistol in its holster.

Noah stood there, going over the list of possible suspects that might want to break into the sheriff’s home. At the very best, it might be someone who didn’t know that this was his house, in which case they certainly had the worst luck. There was the possibility that they thought the place was abandoned. He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to see the high grass that he hadn’t mowed since August. He had taped cardboard over the attic window rather than repair. Thinking the house was abandoned would have been an easy mistake to make.

Noah reached up to his shoulder. “Dispatch, this is the sheriff. Possible 459 at 129 Woodbine Lane.” 

He may not be good for anyone else, but he was a good cop. He opened door and entered the room according to all proper procedure. 

The lights were on in the living room, just as the lights were on all over the house. The living room had been swept, the piles of junk mail that had threatened to overwhelm the coffee table had been thrown away, and the dishes piled on the T.V. tray had gone missing. He could hear the sound of water running in the kitchen sink.

“Who’s there? Come on out!” 

The water suddenly shut off. “It’s just me, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Scott?” The sheriff deflated in annoyance. “What are you doing?” 

The alpha came out of the kitchen with a dishrag. “Uhm. Cleaning.”

“Hold on.” Noah grabbed the radio. “Dispatch, this is Sheriff Stilinski. Cancel back up. It’s a false alarm.” He gave the password which indicated to the dispatcher that he wasn’t under duress. 

Scott’s eyebrows lifted up. “I’m sorry if this caused any trouble.”

“Does your phone not work?”

“Oh, it works. But if I called you and asked you, you’d have said no.”

The sheriff took off his jacket. “Probably. Why are you cleaning my house?”

“Because you haven’t.” Scott seemed weirdly calm 

Noah narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Scott waved the dishrag at him. “I’m going to go finish the dishes.” He then disappeared back into the kitchen.

Noah followed after him. Scott had indeed been cleaning. The kitchen floor had been mopped and Scott was almost completely finished with the dishes, which was quite an achievement since Noah hadn’t done anything about them in weeks. “Did your mother put you up to this?”

Scott put the rag down but he didn’t turn around. “No. This was completely my idea.”

“Okay, so breaking into my house and sticking your nose into my business was completely your idea. Where’s my scotch?”

“By now, it’s in the sewer system.”

“Scott!”

The young man’s voice was cold and very accusatory. “I couldn’t really tell if you’d been crawling back into the bottle, so I didn’t take any chances.”

Noah felt his pulse rise in fury. He had a mind to read Scott his rights for breaking and entering, cuff him, and haul him down to the station. Not that the cuffs would hold him, honestly. 

“Son, you crossed so far over the line that you can’t see the line from where you are. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m not your son, but I am _concerned_ about you, if you had to have it spelled out.”

The sheriff pulled out a chair and sat down. “Why do this now? And you’ve always been a terrible liar, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but if you happen to be a bad liar, you shouldn’t try to start trying to improve your skills on a police officer.”

“I can help you out if I want without needing an excuse. It’s part of the job description.” 

Noah sat down at the sparking clean kitchen table. He hadn’t seen it like this since last year. “Which job description? High school student?” 

Scott shook his head.

“Alpha werewolf? Or best friend to my son?”

Scott washed the pot in his hands very intently. 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Noah said quietly.

“I think I do.”

The sheriff raised one eye brow while Scott rinsed the pot. 

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself, and what would Stiles say to me if he came back and saw you living like this?”

“He could say a lot of things, but that’s not your problem and it’s not my problem.” Noah tried to sound upbeat. 

The sheriff fell into silence, and he sat there, watching Scott clean the rest of the dishes, doing a very meticulous job. Finally, the last pot was finished and put in the rack to dry. Scott folder the dishcloth and hung it over the faucet. He watched the water spiral down the sink.

“Want to tell me what really brought this on?”

“Maybe.”

“Scott.” He made his voice firm.

“I have a choice to make, and I came here to see how you were doing, because I’ve taken you at your word that you were fine, but in a way, you’re very like Stiles. You don’t like it when people worry about you.”

“I’m a grown man.”

“Grown men need people, too.”

“I’ll let you know when I need it. By the way, how the hell did you get in here?”

“Window in the upstairs bedroom is unlocked.” 

“How … right, werewolf.” Noah chuckled. “So this decision you have to make. What’s it about?”

Scott hesitated and then pulled out the chair opposite. He sat down heavily. “It’s about Stiles.”

The sheriff’s heart beat faster. “You have a lead?”

“No. I have a possible means to get a lead. There’s a group of people who might be able to help me find him, but they’re not good people.”

“We haven’t had a single clue about Stiles on the local, state or federal level.” The sheriff said it heavily. “Who are they that you think they could do more?”

“They’re mad scientist who blend technology and the supernatural.”

“Mad scientists.” The sheriff blew air through his lips. “Why not? But I have to ask, are you sure they’re for real?”

“Peter told me all about them. The Hales have tangled with them before.”

The sheriff frowned. “Well, if Peter said so.”

“I know, but he’s been different since I made him pack.” 

Noah’s frowned increased. 

“You know what? That’s not good enough for me. Go over everything you have again, from the top.”

**~*~**

Stiles flipped a page on the book he was reading. It’s not that the book wasn’t holding his interest. It was a very good book, it’s that the pleasant warmth of the sun on his feet, the gentle caress of the wind on his face, the whispering lull of a quiet ocean, threatened to send him into a mid-afternoon siesta.

He wasn’t fighting it.

He had carried the fold-out chaise, the beach umbrella and the cooler to a part of the beach that was a good five hundred yards from the entrance to the Hydra base. At the northern most point of Samana Cay, the Atlantic stretched, indomitable and blue, as far as his eyes could see. He was alone except for sea birds and the susurrus of waves.

In a new development, Stiles found he liked being alone once in a while. Solitude had been torture when he had been only human. Being alone, even for a little bit, had always reminded him of the silent days after his mother had entered the hospital for the final time, when the house had become a pre-emptive tomb. Back then, he had felt so small, so trapped, by the absence of life. He had felt so vulnerable even when no one was there because no one was there. As soon as he could and as often as he could, he had filled the world with sound, with doing things, with Scott. 

Now, he had centuries of memories to dig around in, and the feeling of vulnerability had vanished. He could spend a little time alone and not feel abandoned. Honestly, periods of solitude had become somewhat of a necessity. The nogitsune’s sense of people’s weaknesses, of the holes in their souls, remained always on, much like a werewolf’s sense of smell. It had never bothered the fox because the nogitsune lacked even the smallest bit of empathy for its food. Stiles had become something new, something different, and new ways had to be found to live. Coupled with the supernatural sense of the void, he still possessed empathy.

That could get pretty burdensome if you happened to sit next to a colleague who was falling apart inside.

He did doze off, the copy of _The Goldfinch_ sliding out of his lap, through the arm of the chaise, and into the sand. It was strangely normal and strangely refreshing. Too bad it couldn’t last.

The technician wasn’t a commando, so he didn’t get within 100 feet before Stiles was awake. With a sigh, he turned his head to watch the person and mourn a lack of telepathic mind control with which to defend his privacy. “I guess that members of Hydra don’t understand what the phrase _afternoon off_ means.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you have a priority call from the Hydra Council.”

Stiles stood up quicker than he wanted to. “Did they tell you what they wanted?” 

“Yes, sir, they want to talk to you.”

Stiles frowned at the banality and gestured shortly toward his beach gear. “Clean this up.” Still clad in a Hawaiian shirt, Stiles began the long walk back to the facility. Authority had its perks, but it also had its drawbacks, one of them being responsibility. He didn’t bother to change when he got to the Department of Occult Armaments’ control center. It would be delightfully insubordinate, appearing before them with a pair sunglasses hanging on a cord around his neck, cargo shorts and flip flops, and zinc oxide on his nose. 

“I enjoy that you always try your best to make a good impression.” A sardonic Ranefer commented without looking up from her reports.

“Glad for an opportunity to put a smile on your face. Why couldn’t you do this?”

“They asked for you, specifically.”

“Wonderful.”

The communication pods activated and the faces of six members of the Council appeared, reduced to three-dimensional silhouettes. Stiles smiled widely at the overelaborate contradiction. How much money did they spend on a system that would purposefully show redacted images? It was a fundamental weakness in Hydra that the higher up you went in the chain of command, the less trust there was. 

“Did we interrupt your day at the beach?” Even through the distortion, Stiles recognized the Secretary of the World Security Council.

“Duh.” He might obey, but he wasn’t going to bow and scrape to them, and they knew it. “What do you need?”

Another person spoke, one that Stiles didn’t recognize. “Do you speak Chinese?”

Stiles answered in perfect Cantonese that he did indeed know. It had taken him 30 years to learn it in the 14th century, but it had been worth it. 

“We need you to go to Hong Kong.”

“Okay.” Stiles wondered what exactly had gone wrong that they were coming to him.

“Project Centipede has had astounding success with augmenting a pre-existing enhanced named Chan Ho Yin. He was a street magician with low-level pyrokinetic powers.” 

Stiles watched as the full information files arrived digitally. “But …”

“We’ve lost contact with the Hong Kong facility.”

“Of course you have. What do you want me to do about it?” 

The voice, who Stiles still couldn’t recognize, hesitated. The other Hydra leaders seemed disgruntled at the whole situation. 

“There’s a special investigative team on its way to the site. At this juncture, using other SHIELD-based assets has been deemed an unacceptable risk.”

Stiles smirked. “You want someone to make sure no one finds anything that points to your little takeover. I’m not a cleaner.”

Pierce finally spoke again. “We’re entering a delicate phase in Project Insight. Most everyone we trust to take care of this is directly connected to SHIELD, but not you. You speak the language and generating chaos is your specialty.”

“I have my own projects.”

“Which don’t need your direct supervision,” chided Pierce. “There will be a plane there in forty-five minutes.” 

The fox sucked on his teeth. “You’re going to make it worth my while?”

“Of course,” answered Von Strucker, finally speaking. “What do you want?” 

“A status report on my father.” 

Von Strucker smirked. “Easily done. Don’t underestimate the SHIELD team. It’s run by Fury’s right-hand man.”

“Maria Hill’s pretty butch, but I’m sure she’s a woman.”

No one on the Council found it funny. 

“Okay, okay. Tough crowd. I’m on my way. Anything else, oh wise and powerful overlords?”

The Council vanished from the screens in answer. 

Stiles picked up his tablet. “Well at least I’ll have reading for the trip. How am I supposed to take someone named Phil seriously?” 

Dr. Ranefer shrugged. 

“You’re a fat lot of help. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.” He marched down to his quarters, sliding the tablet under his arm. 

So much for a day in the sun.

**~*~**

Television shows always made attics seem like they’re gateways to the past. The light was always soft and indirect. Dust floated prettily in its beams, and it never got in your eyes or your throat or your hair. They forgot that attics are either frigidly cold or stiflingly hot. The mustiness was presented as if it were airborne nostalgia and not irritating mold.

But they weren’t completely wrong. It might not be as comfortable as the dramas made them out to be, but they could open the door to a lot of memories.

Scott sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at, of all things, a game of Risk. The box itself was dented and creased, as if someone — or several someones — had accidentally sat on it. Leaning forward, he took it off the shelf and put it on the rough wood floor. The clear plastic boxes held all six colors, even though there weren’t as many red or blue pieces as there should have been.

Stiles had always played blue. Scott had always played red.

One particularly bad winter, Scott had caught a respiratory infection. The doctors had been very concerned that he might develop asthmatic bronchitis, so they prescribed strict bed rest. He would miss two whole weeks of school — the last two weeks before Winter Recess — so, in total, he would be confined to his bed for four full weeks. He was bored out of his mind by day two. 

He didn’t know how he could have managed it without Stiles. Every day, every single day, Stiles would come over after school. He'd bring the work Scott had to do from his teachers, though Stiles would often do some of it for him when he was bored at school. After all, the more Stiles finished, the more they could hang out. He’d tell Scott all the gossip, update him on Lydia Martin sightings, and describe in great detail all the stupid stuff Greenberg and Jackson and Mrs. Parkman, the social studies teacher they both hated, had pulled. He’d act it out, with great exaggeratedly gestures, pretending that he wasn’t trying to make Scott laugh.

Then they’d play Risk.

Scott usually won. Stiles would take the early lead, because he was aggressive and clever. He’d see an opening and he’d go for it, without fear. Stiles problem always seemed to be how much he’d overextend his armies. In a mad gamble, he’d take Asia and Europe, but the next turn would see Scott take enough of it back so Stiles couldn’t profit by holding them. All Scott had to do was wait, and he’d eventually win.

It’d piss Stiles off to no end. He’d sulk for five minutes and then be back to normal.

But he still came over and played every day. And he’d still get mad every day when Scott beat him at Risk.

Of course, they tried to play other games. Stiles was better at them, and when they played them, Stiles would usually win. So, Stiles wouldn’t suggest them again. He’d pretend he didn’t like the games he won, no matter how much Scott said it was okay to play them.

“So let’s play Risk,” Scott whispered, running his hand over the board.

He heard his mother coming up the wooden ladder into the attic. He quickly put the pieces away and the lid back on the box. He didn’t know why he was trying to hide it. He had wanted to talk to her anyway.

“Scott? Are you up here?”

“Yeah.”

His mother took a few steps up into the place. “You didn’t turn on the light.”

“Don’t need it.”

“How can you … oh, right.” She chuckled and found her way around the boxes. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, not buying it.” She came around and sat down on an old steamer trunk. Scott didn’t know what was in it. 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Melissa took in a deep breath and held it. “You have this habit, when you’re really upset, but you don’t know what to do, of hiding.”

“I don’t hide.”

“Okay, that’s not the best word for it. You isolate yourself. I’ve found you in the basement, in your closet, up here. One time you started cleaning out the shed in the back yard without me asking you to. I’m your mother — I notice these things.”

Scott looked at her, sitting there in the dim light. He shrugged in answer. 

“So what’s wrong?”

“It’s about Stiles.”

Melissa tried — she really did — to hide the concerned sigh. She had once or twice tried to get him to go to counseling. She had even talked to Alan about the possibility of finding someone to talk to him. He had promised at the least to refer Scott to his sister, if he couldn’t find anyone else who could fill the bill as a grief counselor.

Scott had stubbornly, if politely refused. He didn’t need a grief counselor because Stiles wasn’t dead.

“I may have found a way to find him.”

Melissa fought to keep the look of disappointment from her face. “A new one?”

“Yeah.” Scott clasped his hands in front of him. “I know what you’re thinking, but it might really work.”

His mother didn’t say anything.

“Everyone I’ve talked to thinks there’s a good chance that these people can help me find Stiles and whoever took him.”

“Then why are you upset?”

Without going to deep into the story or giving any unnecessary details or even giving the Dread Doctors’ names, Scott told his mother what Theo had said, what Peter had said, and what Noah had said.

Melissa folded her hands into her lap. She was worried; he could smell it.

“I don’t know what to do, Mom.”

“Yes, you do.” Melissa said. “You told me about sophomore year, about how you couldn’t stay out of the fight between Derek’s pack and the Argents, even though it cost you Allison, because you couldn’t just sit by and do nothing, no matter how much you loved her.”

“I …”

“You’ll make the right decision. I believe in you.”

**~*~**

“Fox?” The pilot spoke over the intercom.

“Yes?” Stiles looked up from the briefing file in front of him. 

“We’ll be coming in for a landing at Hong Kong in thirty five minutes.”

“Thank you.” Stiles rotated on the seat to face the four-man squad behind him. He loved doing that — he had dreamed about doing it as a child — so he could feel the impish smile on his face. “Okay minions, nap time’s over. Get dressed.”

The squad stirred to wakefulness. One of them, who had been mostly awake already, muttered about them not being minions. 

“Oh, but you are.” Stiles spun the seat around. He picked up the folder that had been waiting for him on the plane.

He opened it up. It was a medical report on Noah Stilinski. It had been quickly compiled from his father’s most recent check-ups, hospital stays, and eye-witness testimony. While he understood most of it, there were helpful notes from SHIELD doctors on the more esoteric parts of the report. Noah was healthy enough for a law enforcement officer his age who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, exercised moderately and endured normal levels of stress. There was no sign of long-term effects from the events of 2012, neither Matt’s blow to his head or being kidnapped by a Darach. 

Stiles threw the folder down on the table, suddenly unhappy.

Hours ago, the quinjet had flown over California, though nowhere near Beacon Hills. It had been the closest he had been to his father in over a year. He had carefully avoided any missions that would take him anywhere near the most populous state in the Union. It was stupidly irrational. California was huge; the chance of running into someone he knew was infinitesimal, and he had the power to easily fix it should it actually happen. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to go there.

In the end, Stiles didn’t know if he had the will to avoid going home if he had been that close. 

His musings were mercifully interrupted by the soft alert of a communication link. Stiles checked to see if it was from the Centipede Base.

“This is Fox.” He answered the phone a little dramatically.

“When are you going to get here?” The voice was female; Stiles didn’t know her.

“We’re thirty minutes out.”

She cursed on the other end of the line.

“Is there something that matter, doctor?”

“SHIELD has infiltrated the building!” 

Stiles made a pfft sound. “So, you’ve lost control of the situation.”

“No!” The woman protested futilely. “Everything is under control.”

“Sure it is. We’ll be there in forty-five. Try not to get arrested by then, okay?” 

The doctor hung up the phone. 

Stiles closed his eyes. If the SHIELD team led by Coulson had already found the laboratory, the plan he had run by his superiors wasn’t going to work. He needed to change the dimensions of the situation. This was his element, after all, improvisation. 

“Okay, boys, you’re benched.”

There were protests; they had endured a long flight here. 

“Settle down, minions. The free-range task force and SHIELD Hong Kong’s task force units are already in place. Even masked, you guys are still SHIELD agents, no matter what your extra-curricular activities. Going into a situation like that violates operational parameters. I’m going in alone.”

“That’s stupid,” said one guy with whom Stiles had never worked before.

“Oh.” Stiles batted his eyelashes at the man. “Your concern for me is overwhelming, Mingus.”

“It’s Minge,” snapped the guy. After a nervous second. “Sir.”

“Thank you for the correction, Mingus, and as much as I’m touched by your thoughts for my wellbeing, this has turned from recovery operation to an interdiction. I’m going there to salvage what can be salvaged and destroy what can’t, and while doing that I don’t need you four getting made by surveillance.” He popped up from his seat. “I’m going to give the pilot new instructions, so meanwhile one of you strapping young men need find me a parachute. Oh, and Mingus?”

“Yes, sir?”

“If you ever call me stupid again, your intestines will decorate the tree at the D.O.A.’s next holiday party. Capiche?”

It took Stiles maybe five minutes to work out a new flight plan, one making it likely the plane wouldn’t even be seen, protecting this part of SHIELD from that part of SHIELD. They’d buzz a relatively open — for Hong Kong, at least — industrial park not two blocks from the Centipede facility. He’d take a commercial flight back. 

The gleaming lights of Hong Kong spread out in front of them. Stiles had spent the last few minutes before their revival reviewing not only the map of the area but also the memories in his head of a previous possession — a member of the Teishin Shudan. It had been his last host before Corporal Rhys and his unfortunate imprisonment. He had never thought that these learned skills would come in handy, but here he was.

Landing in the dark in the middle of one of the most densely populated cities in the world was easier than he had imagined. Enhanced agility helped with that. He ditched the parachute and sprinted down the nearest road to the Centipede building, slowing when he only got close to it. Operations were already under way — he could feel the strife from here. He should move closer, get an eye on things, figure out what was going on, and how to manipulate the situation.

Not doing that would be simpler.

It occurred to him, like a brick to the head, that neither part of him wanted anything to do with this operation. Hydra needed him; he didn’t need Hydra. He could walk away, easy blending among the 55,000 Caucasians in Hong Kong. He could go so deep into the community that they’d could waste years and never find him. 

In the distance, a torrent of fire roared into the sky from the roof of the building. Stiles felt an echo of pain from even this distance — someone had come to a bad end. 

That could be him. He stood in the alleyway, the sound of sirens in the distance. He could make a bad end. 

“Make a decision.”

He could leave right now, and if he didn’t want to stay in Hong Kong, he could make his way back to California. He could pretend he was Just Stiles, since he could pretend with the best of them, and now that he was one creature instead of two. He could see his Dad. He could see Scott and the pack. He could.

He could also destroy them.

“Make a damn decision.”

He took a deep breath and strode forward into the darkened alleys surrounding the facility. He’d find any Centipede operatives and get information from them as to what happened here.

**~*~**

Scott stood in the backroom of the animal clinic on a Sunday morning. There was a duffel bag on the floor, packed with things for a trip. Everything was in place for what he had to do.

He had sat down with the pack and explained what he was hoping to do. He had gone over things with his mother, the Sheriff, and Mr. Argent. He didn’t have to do that. It would have been easier to ask for forgiveness then to get permission.

But he did it anyway. That was the way he wanted to run his pack. He was completely capable of acting unilaterally, because sometimes you had to make those decisions, but this wasn’t one of them. 

Of course, he had anticipated the objections. He shared the entire story of the Dread Doctors that he had gotten from Peter. The objections had ranged from sullen outrage from Cora that he would even consider using the Doctors to find Stiles, to a long and exhaustive list of the tactical difficulties as presented by Allison. He had never put his foot down, never raised his voice, and he had compromised as much as possible. 

For him, the risk was worth the reward. He had been able to convince Allison, Isaac, Lydia, and the twins that he wasn’t going into this blind, and that he appreciated how much they wanted to protect them. He had apologized to the Hales enough about using the monsters that killed their father that Derek had finally sat him down and promised that he wasn’t offended. 

Everything was ready, even if he still wasn’t sure of the particular path of action he had reached.

He turned to his boss, who was standing in the doorway. “You haven’t said anything.”

Deaton was unruffled. “What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me that what I plan to do is the right thing.”

“I can’t do that, and I am sorry about that, but there’s too much I don’t know. I don’t know about the Dread Doctors. Talia never told me about them, the same way she never showed me the Nemeton nor did she tell me she cut it down. I don’t know if you’re strong enough to do what you plan to do.”

“Why do you think she didn’t tell you?”

“I can only speculate. Maybe she was ashamed? Maybe she didn’t want to relive that particular part of her life again? Maybe she didn’t know how. Many times, people are suspended between alternatives, none of which are totally good and none of which are totally bad.”

Scott glanced to the ground. “How do you decide in that case?” 

“You have to choose what is important to you. Is it that the least number of people get hurt or the most number of people get helped? And act accordingly.”

Scott frowned again. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“No one does.” Deaton said amiably. 

Scott looked at his hands. “I have to do this. This might be a trap.”

The veterinarian didn’t answer him. They had gone over this already.

Before he could continue, Theo came in, offering a thin smile. Here it was: his last chance to back out. 

“You ready?” Theo asked.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” Scott answered. “But there is one more thing we gotta do before we go.”

Theo shrugged. “Of course.”

“It won’t take long. Can you grab my bag?”

Theo bent down to pick him up and Scott stepped up behind him and wrapped an arm around his head. Before Theo could do more than cry out, Scott plunged his claws into the back of Theo’s neck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is an homage to the Marvel Cinematic Universe and Teen Wolf. I don't own the characters. 
> 
> This chapter takes place during and directly after the episode of Agents of SHIELD, _Girl in the Flower Dress._

###### October 12, 2013 

While it wasn’t tiny, no one would be able to call the cell comfortable, with it being only a little over four yards on a side. The light fixtures were enclosed in heavy, supposedly-unbreakable plastic, but the cases had yellowed with age, casting the whole room in grimy light. There was a table, bolted to the concrete floor, a toilet in one corner, a wooden chair, and a twin-size bed. It was all thoroughly and depressingly institutional.

Scott felt a little sick to his stomach, but he didn’t have much choice. It was the best call for everyone involved, especially for the person who would have to occupy that cell. 

“Don’t leave me in here,” Theo pleaded from behind the bullet-resistant polycarbonate wall. The chimera had been stoic until this point, acting as if it didn’t matter to him, but the moment it became real, he had broken a little.

“What else do you expect me to do?” 

Theo stared at him like trapped animal, like a deer on the other end of a rifle scope, and Scott dug his claws into his hand. 

“I don’t know.” Hope had left Theo’s voice. 

Dr. Fenris shut and locked the cell door, leaving his old friend trapped inside. Scott didn’t look away, didn’t pretend that this was anything but horrible. He didn’t feel triumphant; he couldn’t fight the urge to explain himself. “You were a spy, sent to lure me to my death so your masters could destroy my pack and employ the Nemeton to do something so secret they wouldn’t even tell you what it was.” 

“I can help you, Scott. You need to know what they’re doing; I can find out.” 

“Are you serious? What do you think they’ll do if I send you back to them?” Scott shook his head. He wouldn’t want to be in Theo’s position ever, but it would be folly to try to use him as a double agent.

Theo didn’t answer Scott’s questions, but his face fell. He offered, quietly, so quietly even Scott couldn’t hear it. “I can leave. I’ll leave town.”

“I saw in your mind what the Doctors do to chimera they think are failures, and I promise you, I’m not going to let them hurt you, and I’m _not_ abandoning you in here. You’re going to get help you deserve; I’ll make sure of it. The Doctors are ruthless murderers, and I can’t protect you out there, because I can’t trust you out there. Not yet.”

Theo’s face contorted between hope, fear, and anger. He lashed out. “You can’t hold me here. You can’t prove I’ve done anything wrong, and you can’t charge me with any crime.”

Scott didn’t take the change in tactics personally. He might try anything to get out of being here as well. He did understand, but he had had an answer ready should Theo try that tactic. “You don’t want to push that avenue, Theo, because if you do, Sheriff Stilinski will start an investigation into what happened to your family, especially your sister. What do you think will happen when we exhume your sister’s body and prove that you received an unnecessary heart transplant? You’ll find yourself right back here, only then you being committed will have the full authority of the State of California.”

Dr. Fenris shook his head in disdain. “Such monsters in this world.”

Scott pulled Dr. Fenris away as Theo sat dejectedly down on the bed. When they were finally far enough away that he was sure Theo couldn’t hear him, Scott set his jaw and spoke with what he hoped was his most commanding voice. “I want you to understand, he is to be treated like a victim and a patient, not a criminal.” 

Dr. Fenris lifted an eyebrow. “You’re a little young to be giving ultimatums.”

“It’s not ultimatum. It’s a promise — I’ll use whatever influence I have to make sure he’s treated well.” Scott spoke with earnest conviction. “He was my friend, once, and they took him and they turned him into that. He needs help, yet all I’ve really done for him now is put him in a cell.”

“I think you’re selling yourself a little short. Mr. McCall. I know only a little of what has happened from what Alan and the sheriff have told me, but you could have been a lot rougher on him than you have been. I don’t think you have anything of which you should be ashamed. You’ve examined the alternatives, and you’ve prioritized his health, both physical and mental, when no one would hold you culpable if you didn’t. But now, you have to trust me; in a way, I’m a little offended that you feel you have to ask me to treat him well. The staff has only begun to start his diagnosis, but from what you’ve told me, those Doctors may have been manipulating this boy since he was nine. Yes, Eichen House has experienced some bad times in our past, but we’re still a hospital designed to help people. We’ll take good care of him.”

They stopped at the entrance to the supernatural ward. At Dr. Fenris’ nod, two orderlies began replacing the mountain ash framework in the caged doors, sealing the place to supernatural entities. Even as the protections were put back into place, Scott could smell anxiety coming off of Dr. Fenris. 

“Is there something else wrong?”

The man looked as if he were tempted to lie, but he finally pursed his lips and nodded. “I spoke of bad times here at Eichen. Have you ever been told about Dr. Gabriel Valack, either from Alan or his sister?” 

Scott searched his memory. “I haven’t heard anything about him.”

Dr. Fenris hesitated, and then spit it out like it was something distasteful. “Five years ago, Dr. Valack was Director of this facility. Now he’s an inmate.”

“Do I want to ask why?”

“He conducted highly unethical experiments on our supernatural patients, both those in the violent ward and those in the general population. These experiments were almost always fatal.” 

Scott frowned and looked back in the direction of where he had left Theo. 

“I won’t allow things like that to happen again, Mr. McCall. But you have to know that the purpose of the experiments was to study the nature of supernatural powers, much like you’ve told me these Doctors are trying. Dr. Valack not only temporarily increased the powers in his patients, he also managed to … gift himself with extrasensory powers.”

“What? How?”

“He possesses … or believes he possesses … precognition, clairvoyance, and retrocognition. He also can generate illusions on a small scale and exposure to his abilities have been known to put people into psychically induced comas.” Dr. Fenris looked like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “He performed trepanation on himself.”

“You know,” Scott said, “if I hadn’t been bitten by a werewolf last year and watched the Avengers defeat an alien invasion in New York, I might think you were trying to play a joke on me. How do you contain someone like that?”

“Very carefully. Half-an-hour before you contacted me for help with Mr. Raeken, he sent me a message through an orderly.”

“What did he want?”

“To talk to you. He didn’t tell the orderly, though he did say it was very important. My intermediaries report he won’t say anything to anyone else, and by my own rules, I’m not allowed to be in a room with Dr. Valack, as I’m one of the few people that can order his release. It’s a precautionary measure.”

Scott felt that old familiar feeling that he was about to be in over his head. “How does he even know my name?”

Dr. Fenris shrugged. “He has psychic powers?”

Scott took a minute to think about it, but he knew better than to turn down an offer of help, even if it was from some deranged therapist. He told Fenris he would go see this doctor, and so received a run down in etiquette from the head of the institution. The primary points were easy. Do not cross the line. Do not look him in the eye. His third eye. Scott missed the days he would have shuddered at the idea of a third eye, but it’s nothing compared to what he had seen so far. 

The imprisoned doctor had pulled a full Hannibal Lecter, waiting for Scott at full attention as the alpha entered the room at the end of a long way. The man seemed dignified, even dressed in the casual clothes the facility allowed him and wearing a bandaged wrapped around his head. He tilted his head slowly to one side and then tilted it the other direction, as if fascinated by a truly grotesque specimen. 

“Not quite what I expected.”

“I thought you could see the future.” Scott challenged, feeling more comfortable in aggression. “Shouldn’t you have seen this happening already?”

Dr. Valack smirked. “The future is not always perfectly clear, even when I do get a significant glimpse at it. There’s always a little wiggle room that I have to take into account. Honestly, seeing what _has_ happened and what _is_ happening is far easier.” 

Scott tried to seem unconcerned. “You told the director you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, I did. At least someone of his intellectual ability is good for something, even if it is as simple a task as delivering messages. If I felt you would have received it without editing, I would have been more forthcoming in the original message, but some things are best done face to face, you know. The Dread Doctors are here.”

Scott nodded, slowly. 

“You managed to avoid their trap. Bravo.” Valack slow clapped.

“Why do you care?”

“When they laid a snare for me, I didn’t succeed in avoiding anything. As a consequence … well, you see where I am now.”

“You aren’t in a cell because of the Doctors, you’re in a cell because you drilled holes in people’s heads.”

“True, yet why do you think I did that? It certainly wasn’t for an article I would be capable of publishing in the New England Journal of Medicine.”

The alpha shrugged. 

“Power, Mr. McCall; I experimented on those people to cultivate power. Power, after all, is the only thing that really matters in this world. Above all, that is the most important lesson the Doctors taught me. At first, I wanted to develop powers of my own.” He touched his bandage. “But that wasn’t sufficient. They were still stronger than I was, and I needed an edge to gain my revenge against them.”

Scott sagged; it was the same old story. “Why?” It wouldn’t matter, but he had to know.

“They ruined me. I was an academic at the top of my field, once. I was on the tenure track at a prestigious university. Then they came to me and they teased me with arcane knowledge beyond my imagination. Yet once they used the resources I could bring to them, they tried to erase my memory of their presence and vanish completely, leaving me to suffer indignity and disgrace when I attempted to use what I had learned.”

The alpha forced down a sharp retort. He had listened to so many people natter on about revenge that he knew it wouldn’t do any good to try to stop them.

“Power has come to define my life, and I think it is what has come to define your life, isn’t it? You didn’t have any until Peter Hale forced it upon you. Ever since, you’ve gained more and more power without ever really wanting it. Now you have more than almost anyone you know. How much more will you accumulate in the years to come?”

“I don’t care about that, and I don’t care about your personal philosophy. Did you actually have something important to say to me or were you just bored?”

Valack tsked at his impatience. “Of course, I have something important to say. Trapped in here, I didn’t think it would do me any good, the knowledge I have, until I watched you almost fall to the Doctors’ schemes. You see, you don’t need to use their arcane technology, alpha; I can tell you exactly how to find what’s left of Stiles Stilinski.”

A growl pushed itself out of Scott’s throat at the warning. 

“Oh my, what big teeth you have. Believe me, I will instruct you on exactly when and where you will find him.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“Oh, I’ve already told you what I want. I want the Dread Doctors defeated. You’re going to do it for me.”

Scott shook his head. “I don’t kill for anyone.”

“My dear boy, I didn’t say kill. I said defeat. I want them beaten, I want their century-old plan foiled, and I want them to live — if what they do is called living — with the knowledge that they will never accomplish their great task. I want them ruined, like they ruined me.”

“Why should I believe you? You’re trying to use Stiles just like _they_ tried to use Stiles to lure me into a trap.”

Valack pouted. “That’s a fair point. Then let me give you a free sample to prove my sincerity. Right now, Stiles Stilinski is in Hong Kong, talking to a very attractive woman. You’ll never get there in time before he’s moved on, but there is a way you can verify what I’m telling you.”

Scott forced himself to stop transforming. “Go on.”

“You need to talk to someone named Phil Coulson in about sixteen hours.” The inmate chuckled. 

“I don’t know who that is.” 

Valack gave him a number. “Ask him how the girl in the flower dress got away.”

###### October 13, 2013

The only name that Stiles had been given for the woman he watched from the shadows of the alleyway was Raina. She was a scientist working for Hydra’s Centipede Project and while officially not in the command structure of the Hong Kong facility, she was the key asset that the council wanted to preserve. According to her file, she had a tactical mind, a winning way with words, and the ruthless efficiency of a true fanatic. 

For her part, she was moving as quietly and as quickly as she could while dragging around a cart of medical supplies. On the other hand, she was moving as quietly and as quickly as she could while _dragging_ a cart of medical supplies, not the best idea while trying to dodge patrols of local S.H.I.E.L.D. agents through the alleyways of Hong Kong. 

Unfortunately, she was going to get caught. While the agents pursuing her weren’t idiots, they also weren’t Hydra, so they were going to find her and arrest her. That he couldn’t allow.

Raina looked around the corner of the alley, judging if she could get across the street without being spotted. She couldn’t. If she moved from this position without assistance, she would be taken.

“You know,” Stiles said casually, allowing himself to emerge from the darkness behind her, “I think you’d be doing a lot better if you left that behind.”

The woman turned on him, panic in her eyes which she instantly covered and locked away. The only thing remaining on her face was cool appraisal and a naturally persuasive charm. “I didn’t see you there.”

“You didn’t seem me there, because I didn’t want you to see me there, Raina.” At the use of her name, something minute shifted in her eyes, but only a few people, including Stiles, would have ever have noticed it. 

“Who would you be?”

“Fox.” It was his codename. “I’m here to make sure you make your departing flight from Hong Kong.” 

“I’m glad.” She offered him a brilliant smile. “I wasn’t sure if I would, honestly.”

“Well, certainly not lugging something around a cart full of what looks like blood.”

Raina moved slightly, keeping her body between him and the canister. “This material is far more important than I am. If you have to choose, make sure this gets away.” 

Stiles raised both eyebrows. “What is it?”

The woman frowned. 

“Apple juice?”

Her frown grew wider. 

“Jose Quervo 1800 Gold?” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“The remains of Jimmy Hoffa. Come on, I gotta know.” She went to protest and Stiles let a hint of 1000-year menace drop into his voice. “I _have_ to know.”

Raina recalculated in an instant and smoothly adjusted her attitude. She was very, very good. “It’s a stabilizing agent for the Centipede cocktail. Platelets extracted from a pyrokinetic.” 

“All right.” Stiles imagined that would be very important. “When I cause a distraction, you will go down to that main thoroughfare and hail a taxi. I’ll be right behind you.” 

“A distraction?”

“Yup.” Stiles said, popping the p. He walked into the middle of the street as he left Raina behind. He saw two SHIELD agents near an all-night store and three more back near what used to be the Hong Kong Centipede facilities. Even though no one could sense them unless he willed it, he began to rub his tails together. While he wasn’t a thunder kitsune like Kira, all kitsune had some ability to channel foxfire. Personally, he was particularly good at introducing chaos into electrical systems, such as the entire power grid for this block of Hong Kong. 

The thing about foxfire and kitsune is that they’re not really separate — the energy that people like Noshiko and now Stiles channels was like another part of their body. Young kitsune aren’t even aware of that, like a muscle they haven’t learned to use. It was why the nogitsune had Barrow kidnap and attempt to fry Kira with half the town’s power supply. It might have been years before she learned to manifest that part of herself, the overwhelming thunder she could call upon, and the nogitsune needed it to carve a home in Stiles’ mind. 

And now, here they were, or rather, here he was, two-as-one. Together, he shorted out every electrical circuit in the city block, plunging the entire area into darkness, hampering the searching agents, causing chaos and a bit of strife.

With a spring in his step he went and grabbed Raina’s cart. It was relatively light for him, as strong as he was now. A taxi was waiting at the main highway, Raina had obviously convinced the man to wait. He easily put the contents of the cart in the trunk and tossed the cart away. 

In Cantonese, Stiles ordered the man to drive them to Shek Kong Airfield. 

“Why there?”

“It’s the extraction point.”

Raina folder her hands in her lap. “Not the most subtle location.”

“For others probably not. For me, it won’t be a problem.”

The woman looked toward the driver. “You know he most likely speaks English.”

“I know.” Stiles winked. “But what’s he going to do, call the National Enquirer?”

The driver’s eyes appeared in the rear-view mirror and then disappeared quickly. Stiles shrugged to himself; it was the luck of the draw.

Stiles pulled out his cell phone. “Yay.” It was still working. Sometimes, when he let his foxfire go crazy, he didn’t pay as much attention as he should and it fried his phone. Luckily, this time, he had been careful enough.

It wasn’t simply a phone, of course. He texted the quinjet to turn around and pick them up. He was excellent at misdirection, but he wasn’t going to be able to get unregistered biological material culled from unethical experiments on a commercial flight to the United States. Luckily, the quinjet wasn’t far away.

“You know, I’ve only heard of you obliquely,” Raina started. “I didn’t think you would be so young.”

“People have told me that I have a young face.” 

“How old are you?”

Stiles laughed. “That depends.”

“Does it? Usually, it depends on how many years alive.”

“In my case, it’s a bit more complicated. Technically I’m either 18 or 1,045.” 

Raina’s face screwed up like she was trying to figure out if he was pulling her leg. “You’re not going to explain that, are you?”

“What’s life without a little mystery?” 

It didn’t please her, and Stiles didn’t think it would. For as little time as he had been exposed to her, Raina reminded him of Lydia. She was undoubtedly intelligent, but she was careful not to seem too intelligent, trusting in people to underestimate her because she was attractive and wore exquisite dresses. She had the same cool self-control and the same ability to carefully create a meticulous mask that no one would see through. And, finally, she had a hunger for knowledge he could feel in her irritation at his evasive answers. She was greedy to know who he was, but too disciplined to push it too far. 

He’d have to watch her closely.

Driving through Hong Kong was an experience. The city had spent ninety-nine years curling in on itself until it was one of the most densely packed places on the earth, and then, after it had been given back to China, integrated with a vengeance but with little thought to what had been there before. As a consequence, roads were narrow and old or broad and wide, and it took a skilled driver in the dark of night to get anywhere on time.

On the other hand, unless one had been prepared, it would be impossible to follow even one of the brightly colored taxis if you didn’t know where they were going. Stiles counted on it.

The airfield seemed deserted at this time of night. The driver pulled into the visitor’s parking lot. Stiles slid out of the back seat and went over to pay driver. When Raina opened her mouth to speak, Stiles hushed her and handed the man five times the amount they owed. “Keep the change.” Then he went back and pulled the platelets out of the back. He slammed the lid and then waved the driver off.

“You left your phone in the back seat,” Raina pointed out.

“That I did.” 

Once the cab was gone, the quinjet landed in the darkened part of the airfield. Troopers, including Mingus, jumped into action and loaded the blood onto the plane. Stiles extended a hand to help Raina up, like he was a gentleman.

They were on board and in the air in less than five minutes. 

“Lock a missile on my transponder,” Stiles ordered. 

Raina looked shocked. She was, after all, a scientist and a recruiter, not a warrior. 

“It’s standard practice on espionage missions not to leave any witnesses. He was dead the moment you hailed his cab.”

It took little time to blow the taxi into little bitty pieces.

Once Stiles was sure it was done, he came back and sat back down next to her. She looked flush.

“You okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” she admitted. “I’m not as accustomed to death as you seemed to be.”

Stiles froze for one split second. It was true, but it was also not true. He had just ordered someone’s death like he had ordered curly fries at the local burger joint back home, but he had done as someone who had done it a thousand times would. He pushed the thought from his mind.

“Well, we all have our strengths. What’s a nice girl like you playing for a team like ours?”

She crossed her legs, coyly. 

Stiles grimaced. “You’re not going to tell me _what’s life without a little mystery_ , are you?”

“Of course not. I grew out of amateur intrigue in ninth grade. I’m spending these moments figuring out why you would like to know, what I would like you to know, and what I can get away with not telling you.”

“Oh.” Laughter bubbled up out of him. “You’re _fun._ ”

Raina inclined her head, accepting the compliment for what it was. “I want to see the truth that lies within people. I want to see what that truth can transform them into. Hydra will assist me with that.”

“I thought you were a scientist; that sounds like poetry.”

“Science doesn’t have to be dead. It can be alive, and it can be beautiful.” She certainly sounded convincing. “We were able to bring out what was inside of Chan Ho Yin, and it was beautiful.”

“And then you drained every drop of beauty out of him.”

“The pursuit of knowledge has costs,” Raina seemed nonplussed. “Sometimes you pay it; sometimes someone else pays it. The taming of fire changed humanity’s destiny irrevocably, but I can guarantee that more than one of its discoverers got burned.”

“I would hate to see your lovely skin get burned,” Stiles suggested. He told himself that it was a little lewd, but he was eighteen years old. Hormones were hormones.

“Something tells me that’s not completely true.” She demurred. “I know a dangerous predator when I see one.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere. But that’s fine, I’ll change the topic to something more connect to intrigue. What’s the blood for?”

“It’s really only Chan’s platelets. They are what rendered him fireproof. We can use it to stabilize the Extremis ingredients in the Centipede formula.”

“No more exploding minions?” Stiles joked.

“Hopefully.”

“That’s a pity, I like exploding minions. We’ll get you to your next base.”

“Thank you.” Raina flashed him a genuine smile. “Will you be staying around to see what we can do with it?” 

“I’m afraid not. I’ve my own plots to hatch. But I’m sure I’ll see the results of your work on the news.”

**~*~**

Scott sat in his living room, confronted by yet another decision that he didn’t feel he had the experience or the depth of knowledge to answer correctly. He had visited his mother at the hospital, the sheriff at the station, and Deaton at the clinic. He had talked with Chris Argent on the phone. He had stopped by and spoke with Derek and Peter at the loft. They had outlined their concerns and made their recommendations, but at the base, there was still the same truth.

He was the alpha; in the end, it was his decision.

The rest of the pack were at school, even Aiden and Ethan. He wished he could be there right now, but he had a window of time and that window was closing rapidly. He wished he could have talked it over with Allison and Isaac. He could get Malia’s instincts and Lydia’s insight, but they were busy being … teenagers. He wished he could be a teenager once again.

But he was the alpha; in the end, it was his decision.

There was an ache behind his breastbone, a stubborn spike of pain that didn’t heal. Sometimes it went away, and then he would go into his room and see a skateboard he hadn’t used since the summer before last or he’d see something on the internet and he thought to himself he couldn’t just wait to share it. But the person he went skateboarding with and the person he wanted to show it to was gone. He’d been gone for months.

“Stiles,” he said to the empty house. He wasn’t quite sure why he said it. Maybe he wanted to know if he still could. Maybe, in a world with werewolves, and banshees, and kanimas, and kitsune, he could cast a spell and summon back part of the life he had lost.

The clock marched on. If he wanted to find the proof that Valack could give him, he had to make the call now. None of the people he had talked to had recognized the name, though the Sheriff had said it sounded familiar, he couldn’t place where. 

Stiles would have known who Phil Coulson was, Scott was sure of it. 

And that was the last straw. Scott punched in the numbers that Valack gave him. The phone rang three times.

“Coulson.”

“Uhm. Hello. Hi, you don’t know me, but—”

“How did you get this number?” 

Scott swallowed. He expected it to be a public number. “That’s a long story.”

The man’s voice was firm. “Well, you called me. Why don’t we start with your name?”

“My name’s Scott. I called because I have to ask you about something.”

“I’m sure you do.” There is a pause. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You wanted to ask me about something?” 

Scott wished he had a wolf’s bane smoothie right now. He was so sure he was doing the right thing and now he was botching it. “Yes, I did. Sorry. I’m not doing this right, but you have to trust me it’s a very long story. Yeah, well, okay — how did the girl in the flower dress get away?”

The silence on the other end was deafening. Scott waited patiently.

“I’m going to ask you how you knew about that, and I’m sure that the words I don’t want to hear is ‘it’s a long story.’” 

“Mr. Coulson, I guarantee you I don’t mean any harm. If you could just tell me how that girl got away, that’s all I really need to know.”

Scott felt a bead of sweat form on his lip. How much was he prepared to tell? How could he convince a complete stranger to give him what he needed? 

“An entire city block in Hong Kong lost power without an explanation. I’m sure you could see about it on the news.” 

Scott felt his heart drop into his stomach. Foxfire could cause a power outage. Stiles could be in Hong Kong. 

“Thank you. I mean, I know this sounds ridiculous, but you helped. A lot.” Scott stuttered into the phone. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

“Well, _Scott,_ we need to know more. You called a private secure line for a government agency, so —”

Scott hung up. It was probably something stupid, but he didn’t need to involve the government. All he knew he had proof.

Gabriel Valack could help him find Stiles.

**~*~**

Phil Coulson looked at his phone, grinned wryly, and set it down on the table. “I guess he didn’t want to talk _that_ much.” He turned across the room to Skye. “You have the trace?”

“Yeah,” Skye tapped steadily away with the equipment. “It’s kind of ridiculously easy. This guy wasn’t using an encrypted cell phone. I’ve got him.”

The rest of the team gathered around the table. 

Coulson waited patiently as Skye pulled up a map of California, and narrowed it down to a county, then a city, than a street, than a house. “He apparently called us from his living room. 821 Williamson Street, Beacon Hills, California. Scott McCall.” Skye smiled wryly and looked up at Phil. “Why would a high school senior be calling you, boss?” 

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” He turned and left the situation room. “I’ll have May change course.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is an homage to the Marvel Cinematic Universe and _Teen Wolf_. I don't own the characters.

###### October 14, 2013

The Bus roared through the Pacific sky, the Boeing C-17 hurtling above the waves and below the clouds. The plane was still five hours out from the California coast.

Skye was tired. She had tried to get some sleep after they had left Hong Kong, but the bracelet on her wrist felt like a ball and chain. When she closed her eyes, all she could see is the disappointed faces of people she had come to not want to disappoint.

Most of the team had gathered in the briefing area, before the holographic screen. Coulson, shaking his head in frustration, descended from his office, where he had just got off the communication channels with headquarters. “Okay, team, tell me what you got. Skye, you first.”

Skye stood up, taking a breath, finding the eyes of the team on her. She imagined they were all looking at the monitoring bracelet on her wrist. After the fiasco with her Rising Tide now-ex-boyfriend, she now had something to prove. Luckily, her first task had been easy.

She brought up a picture of their target along with accompanying documents. “Scott McCall. Hispanic male, age 18. Born October 6, 1995 in San Diego, California. Moved to Beacon Hills, California in 1998. He’s a senior at Beacon Hills High School, where he averages a 3.3 grade point average.” Tapping a button on her laptop, she brought up a picture of him in sports gear. “Despite a bad case of asthma, he used to be captain of the lacrosse team.”

Ward pressed his lips together. “That’s impressive. Lacrosse requires a lot of stamina.”

“He lives at 821 Williamson Road with his mother, Melissa Delgado McCall, a nurse at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. More importantly, his father is Special Agent Rafael McCall, assigned to the San Francisco Field Office of the FBI, though court records indicate that he’s a non-custodial parent.” Pictures of both parents flashed across the screen. “He works after school at the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, and he’s applied to University of California, Davis, expressing interest in their pre-veterinary program.”

Phil crossed his arms in disappointment. “Nothing stands out. Any indication of how he might have gotten access to my personal phone number?” 

“Sorry,” Skye answered. She had looked really deep to find anything. “There’s also no indication of why he would want it. I couldn’t find any connection to radical organizations or anything political at all.” 

Fitz looked up from his cup of coffee. “Could his father have given it to him for some reason?”

“Since the Avengers don’t have that number, I doubt it.” Coulson studied the picture. 

“All-in-all, he seems pretty average. The only black spot on his record was a restraining order issued during his sophomore year. He kidnapped a classmate and locked them in the back of a prisoner transport van as a prank. The boy’s parents refused to press charges, and they eventually dropped the resulting restraining order.”

Fitz frowned. “That’s pretty extreme for a prank.” 

Skye wondered if Fitz had been pranked in school. Classmates could be cruel. “Classmates.” She said aloud. 

“Something?” Coulson demanded. 

“Let me check my hunch out.”

“I’m thinking about that asthma,” Simmons wondered out loud. “A high-school athlete with that disability could be easily frustrated by his inability to perform. He could be a possible recruitment candidate for Centipede.”

“I thought so, too,” Skye replied while calling up the high school student roster, “but I couldn’t find anything linking him to Centipede or Hong Kong at all.” 

The group fell silent, staring at the documents, looking for anything out of the ordinary. In the middle of this, Ward received a phone call and stepped out of the room. He didn’t even glance in Skye’s direction.

Skye hunched over her laptop, frustrated with herself. “There’s got to be something we’re missing.”

“I’m sure there is.” Coulson turned to her from where he had been gazing at the board. “We just have to find it, but I’d really like to have an idea about how to approach him before we get there.” 

Ward returned as if waiting for his cue. “Well, that was the Special Agent in Charge of the San Francisco Field Office. Special Agent McCall will meet us on the ground at the Beacon County Airport.”

“Good. There’s our way in.” Phil turned to May. “Tell me about the city.” 

The agent stepped forward and pushed Skye’s research to the side. She brought up her own set of files, all marked with SHIELD clearance stamps. “Here’s where things get more than a little interesting. Beacon Hills has had five Red Events in the last three years, it has a 0-8-4, and — I double checked this — it has a Black Flag.”

That news put a frown on Coulson’s face, a look of surprise on Ward’s face, and twin excited glances for FitzSimmons. Skye looked around, lost. “What’s a Black Flag? What’s a Red Event?”

**~*~**

“I fail to see the point of meeting here,” Gideon Malick looked over the Potomac from the open-air restaurant on the roof of the Watergate Complex. “We’re exposed.”

“What’s the point of taking over the world if you don’t get to enjoy yourself?” John Garrett pulled out a chair and sat while reaching for the drink menu. 

“The restaurant is secure,” Baron Von Strucker promised. “The guards are ours, the wait staff are ours, and the kitchen staff know only that they’re being paid very well.”

Gregory Belial took a seat at the table with much less gusto than Garrett had. None of the others paid him any attention. 

“Still, it’s an unnecessary risk.” Malick emphasized. 

“The point, gentlemen,” said Secretary Pierce, who had a knack in always being the last to arrive, “is perspective. What we’ve accomplished.” He gestured to the Triskelion, looming across the river. “What we haven’t accomplished. What we can do, and what, as of yet, we cannot.” He was carrying a high-end tablet which he set up at one of the place settings, screen facing the others. “Let’s eat before we go over reports.” 

The chef at this restaurant was among the best in D.C. When you tallied the cost of the meals, the wine, the cigars, and renting the whole facility for five people (and a laptop), it rivaled an economy car. Three of the men sitting there wouldn’t remember what they had by the time they woke up the next morning, one had openly snagged a bottle for the flight home, and Gregory Belial picked at his food and barely ate anything.

After they were finished, Pierce turned on the laptop, which brought the electronic face of Arnim Zola to this meeting of Hydra leaders. They went over projections and reports. Belial carefully offered up only bland criticisms.

Pierce checked his watch. “I think we’ve been mired in the details enough for one night; let’s hear the summaries.”

Zola, whose digital face was unreadable, was the first to speak. **-Given no delays, Project Insight will be ready for deployment on January 15 of next year.**

“So quickly?” Malick questioned, ever cautious. 

**\- Once construction on the helicarriers is completed, delay only increases the chance of discovery. If the other divisions are not prepared, we will have to compensate.**

“Work with the artifact continues quickly,” Von Strucker remarked, not the least bit defensive. “Project Meister des Bösen has already produced two workable superhumans, which brings our count to three once you add the Department of Occult Armament’s Fox. At this rate, we’ll have a team capable of taking on the Avengers by the end of next summer.”

Belial shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his department. 

Garrett guffawed. “Your PR department needs a swift kick in the pants, Strucker. What type of name is the Masters of Evil?”

“It has different connotations in German.” Von Strucker bristled. “It refers to our mastery of the Scepter and the threat it represents. It’s certainly no more ridiculous than Project Deathlok.” 

“You got me there!” Garrett smirked. “I don’t care what it’s called, as long as it works. If Insight doesn’t take out all the Avengers, we’re going to need a response. They’re not going to sit down and take it.”

“No, they won’t,” Malick worried.

“Centipede and Deathlok are on schedule. Only one element remains out of our reach.” Garrett turned serious. “Once we get it, you’ll have an army of obedient supersoldiers. By the way, Greg, thanks for the loaner. Fox managed to get my scientist and a key ingredient out of Hong Kong with SHIELD being none the wiser.”

Belial hated to be called by his first name, and he hated even more to be mocked, but he gritted his teeth. “It’s not a problem.” The other leaders turned to him and he continued. “Project Vargulf shows great promise, and we should be able to move against the Masters of the Mystic Arts if they propose a problem.”

“We?” Strucker queried with mock innocence. “I thought that Vargulf was Fox’s project.”

The sorcerer sat up straighter. “We’re a team.”

He was grateful that not one of the human Hydra leaders laughed in his face. Zola, on the other hand, could not contain a note of glee. **\- Mr. Belial, your _team_ should be aware that I have just received confirmation that Fury’s personal task force is headed toward Fox’s point of origin.**

As one, the Hydra leaders turned to stare at him. Gregory Belial took a drink from his glass of water, threw his napkin down, apologized, and left the table. No one noticed that he had left something in his seat.

**~*~**

“I have to say,” Grant Ward shook his head, impressed as he looked over evidence photos of the carnage. “That’s a lot of bodies in a very short amount of time in a very small city. Thirty-six in one year!”

Skye bit her tongue to keep from smarting off. Everyone kept forgetting that she hadn’t gone through the academy. “I’m still trying to figure out exactly what a Red Event is.”

Ward tapped the pictures of the animal attacks which were in the copies of the police reports that Skye had been pouring over. “Red Events are crimes, solved or unsolved, that have drawn our attention but don’t yet merit investigation. We’ve got the whole world to cover; we can’t investigate every incident that seems a little bit out of the ordinary. On the other hand, completely disregarding them would be really, really stupid. So, SHIELD maintains an indexed catalog of them just in case one could have a clue to an active investigation.” 

Coulson stood across the room, hands clasped behind his back, reading an FBI interview of Arthur Kincade. He had been a bodyguard of Iehisu Katashi, a retired Yakuza leader and a victim in the fifth event. “Go over the details of the first event again. It’s got to be more important than the others, simply because it’s the first.”

“In 2006, a prominent family burned to death in their home,” May began from memory, as she had gone over each file before the briefing. “It drew SHIELD’s attention because the Hales had not only helped found Beacon Hills but they were also influential in both local and state politics. Originally thought an accident, it was later ruled to be homicide.”

“I don’t follow.” Fitz looked over May’s shoulder at the pictures of the burned down home. “What made it suspicious enough for SHIELD to notice?”

Ward brought up a picture of the burned-down mansion. “A fire like this is too complex for a spur-of-the-moment crime. This was done by professionals; if it was mistaken for an accident for so long, they were pretty talented. Something this big and this well done is nine times out of ten not a crime of passion. It could have been a politically motivated assassination.”

May continued. “At the time, fourteen family members lived in Beacon Hills. One adult, Peter Hale, survived with third degree burns over fifty percent of his body. He was comatose for six years.” 

“He’s lucky to be alive. Burns that severe have a forty-three percent mortality rate,” Simmons stated while looking over the file.

“Cora Hale was presumed to be dead, but she somehow escaped the house when the others didn’t. She found refuge with friends of the family in Argentina. She was eleven years old.” 

Simmons turned to May. “How does an eleven-year-old make it to Argentina?”

“No one knows. Two other survivors, Laura and Derek Hale, were not at home at the time of the fire.”

Coulson snapped his fingers. He pushed the Hale Fire to the side and then expanded another folder. “There’s not five Red Events, there’s four. The first victim of the animal killings in January of 2012 was Laura Hale. The second was the insurance adjuster for the fire. The next three victims all had prior convictions for arson.” 

“Someone was covering their tracks.” Ward nodded in approval.

“Or pursuing revenge.” May continued. “The last victim of the first Event was Kate Argent, who was reputed to be the mastermind behind the fire.” 

Skye blinked. “You said Argent?” She jumped to her own file, eager to impress the others. With a flourish, Skye pulled up an Instagram account. Scott McCall had pictures of Allison Argent, obviously his girlfriend. “McCall has a connection to the first two events: his girlfriend was Kate Argent’s niece. How much do you want to bet that there are more connections if we keep looking?”

The team immediately began combing through the files, looking for connections. Skye allowed herself a small smile when they responded to her suggestion. It had almost felt like normal.

The first victim of the third Red Event was the father of Scott McCall’s foster brother. The last victim was his co-captain on the lacrosse team, who survived. Scott McCall was at a party from where the first victim of the fourth Red Event was taken. He was the last person to see the fourth victim, one Kyle Trautmann, who disappeared outside the clinic where Scott works after school. His chemistry teacher was the sixth victim. His foster brother, Isaac Lahey, was seriously injured during the fifth and final Red Event.

“Well, this looks like just a _bit more_ than a coincidence,” Coulson concluded wryly.

**~*~**

“It’s convenient that Mr. Belial had to leave,” Von Strucker said, not bothering to conceal his disdain. “I think that we need to take this opportunity to discuss the elephant in the room. The Department of Occult Armaments has been, for a long time, a minor part of our overall operations, mostly because of their failure to produce anything substantial that wasn’t completely beyond their control. However, as the events of the last twenty-four hours indicate, the possibilities inherent in supernatural resources could be a real advantage.”

Gideon Malick leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. “It’s only modern leadership that has minimized the importance of the supernatural. Hydra has always known of the supernatural’s existence and importance.” 

“I’m not interested in history. I’m interested in the future.” The Baron leaned forward. “I’m interested in Hydra’s triumph, and during the brief time that Fox has been with us, he has shown more ability to produce results from the Department than the last twenty years under Belial.”

“Truth be told, if it weren’t for Greg’s fuckups, I wouldn’t even have been aware that the DOA was still in existence,” Garrett snorted. “Do you know how many men I lost covering up that goddamn Bloodstorm incident? Fucking vampires.”

The general disdain that memory elicited varied among the people sitting at the table from frowns to grimaces to eye rolls. 

**\- The casualties we sustained and resources we expended keeping the Department’s artificial vampires rebellion off SHIELD’s radar set back our plans by two and one quarter years.** Zola’s disdain was quite clear. **He may be proficient in the mystic arts, for all the use they are in the real world, but he is not an efficient manager.**

“I have to concur,” Malick puffed on his cigar. “He lacks the vision of a true leader; he’s fascinated by power for its own sake.”

“Now this Fox. He has some potential.” Garrett poured himself another drink. “Quick on his feet. Knows how to keep his head down. And his plans have spunk.”

“They’ve gotten many of our assets killed.” Malick protested. “He has no regard for the resources he employs.”

“As I said, spunk.” 

Pierce had been quiet at the head of the table. “Are you suggesting, Wolfgang, that we consider replacing Belial as head of the DOA?”

“Eventually, everyone bears the consequences of their failures.” Von Strucker took a grape from the fruit tray. “We’re coming to a crisis point in our plans, and I think it makes sense to have the most effective leader in charge of what may turn into be a crucial division.” 

Pierce steepled his hands. “I foresee one problem. We can’t insure Fox’s loyalty.”

“Let’s be honest; can we insure Belial’s loyalty?” Von Strucker challenged, popping the grape into his mouth while his words sunk home. “There are many reasons for someone to become disloyal, and ambition is only one of them. Fear is another. If the sorcerer thinks he might be … retired … he could bolt to that organization based in Tibet.”

Garrett grinned around his wine glass. “You could smell the stench of his panic when he came in. He predicted this conversation.”

**\- It is irrelevant what that charlatan predicted. Fox is too young to be entrusted with the management of a division.**

“I read his full file, Dr. Zola. In a way, he’s older than any one of us here.” Malick observed. “We’ve seen his skill in planning and personnel development. Project Vargulf will shore up one of the few weaknesses in our overall strategy — dealing with those who practice mysticism.”

**\- It is a mistake to overestimate Fox’s suitability for leadership. While the Scepter merged two similar personalities, the dimensional parasite was at its heart a profoundly selfish creature. The good of humanity was inconsequential to its motivations.**

“But his other half was human, Zola.”

**\- His other half was an eighteen-year-old boy who had yet to develop a core belief structure separate from the emotional travails of adolescence. It is unknown if the bonding process has interfered with his psychological development. He is a useful asset, but to assume that he deserves a seat at this table is premature.**

“I have to agree with Zola.” Pierce made it sound final. “For the time being, Belial will keep his spot as director of his department. If we have to, we’ll revisit the issue at future meetings. On the other hand, it might be wise to develop Fox so he has the ability to lead the department should it be required. Garrett, I know you’re good with developing young talent.”

“I am at that.” 

“If you have time, see what you can do.”

**~*~**

Skye walked over to Simmons, who was busy looking over a medical report. “Do you need any help?”

Jemma looked up from the file, and Skye watched as the very edges of her mouth turned down in a barely perceptible frown. “Oh. Oh, no. This is all very technical, I’m afraid.” 

Skye kept the smile plastered on her face. She could push, but she felt Coulson’s eyes on the back of her head. “No problem. Just thought I’d ask. You can only look over police reports so many times before you need a pair of fresh eyes.” 

The biochemist nodded placidly, probably completely unaware of the message her body language had sent. “We should take a break.” 

Unfortunately, Coulson wasn’t in the mood for a break. With a gesture, he closed the police reports on the holographic screen. “Simmons, what’s the story on the 0-8-4?”

“He’s a medical patient named Gerard Argent.”

“There’s that name again,” Skye muttered.

Jemma favored Skye with a smile. “He’s a Caucasian male, age 64. Born May 5, 1949 in Lozère, France, though he holds both United States and French citizenship. He moved to Beacon Hills most recently in February of 2012. Former president of Argent Arms.”

“I knew I recognized that name!” Ward snapped his fingers. “Argent Arms supplies firearms and weapons to nearly forty percent of all police departments in the United States. Very reliable.”

May nodded in agreement. 

“Was Kate Argent related to him?” Coulson asked. He was still focused on linking all the information together.

“According to this, she was his daughter.” 

“How is he an 0-8-4?” Coulson asked.

“In October 2011 he was diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer. That’s as terminal as cancers get. I need to take my time and study his medical records more in depth, but for him to still be alive two years later? That’s remarkable, to say the least. Usually, the only thing that you can do at that point is pain management and end-of-life care, which is exactly what his doctors prescribed.”

“Yet, he’s still alive.”

“Well, that’s remarkable but not impossible. What’s unbelievable is that his cancer has nearly disappeared without any reasonable medical treatment. He was in _hospice._ Instead, his body is producing black mucus that according to this report …” Jemma double checked the wording. “… drips from every available orifice.”

Fitz and Skye murmured “Ewwwwww” in unison. Fitz looked at Skye in delight and then remembered he should be mad at her and looked away.

Even Ward looked a little disgusted. “So, he took some black market medication that worked but has some pretty nauseating side effects.”

“Blood work shows no such medications,” Jemma replied. “And even with such severe side effects, a drug that could cure Stage IV Pancreatic cancer? I’d have heard about it. That’s close to being able to raise someone from the dead.”

Coulson looked away suddenly. 

“It gets better. They were trying to figure out where the mucus was coming from. Analysis of the expectorant indicates that it is composed of a material similar to … wood ash.”

The boss chuckled. “I think that qualifies as an event of unknown origin. This didn’t happen to occur in 2012?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why wasn’t this investigated by SHIELD?”

“Mr. Argent refused to cooperate with SHIELD.” Jemma noted in disappointment. “He wasn’t directly involved with any of the Red Events, or any other crime for that matter, so SHIELD didn’t have the legal basis to insist on an investigation.”

Coulson looked at the picture of an old man in a wheelchair. “Any other agencies involved?”

Simmons checked. “No. He refused treatment from anyone but his own doctors and the staff of the retirement home at which he is staying. It’s his right.”

“I’m beginning to think that we’ve stumbled upon something bigger than we expected.”

**~*~**

Gregory Belial sat down in the back of the limousine as the driver held the door for him. “Take me to the airport.” It was a brusque command, but he did not need to be polite with the man. He had enchanted him earlier that day; why pay for help when you could command?

Without even bothering to wait to see if his instructions were being followed, he continued to listen in on the other members of Hydra. When Zola had told him of the threat to his operations, he had left immediately, but none of them had bothered to notice the small wooden orb, intricately carved to resemble an eye and covered with gnostic symbols that he had left on the chair behind him. 

Not that those fools would recognize a Hag’s Eye if they saw it.

He had listened to their conversation all the way down the elevator and out to the car. He wasn’t particularly angry. He had been expecting this for some time. Part of him had been afraid that he would attend this meeting and not leave alive. It was true that the Department of Occult Armaments had not been very productive over the years he had commanded it, if you thought about things in the way the bureaucratically-bound members of Hydra’s leadership did.

Of course they didn’t understand. Science had the advantage of standing on the backs of giants and yet standing apart from those same giants. Science found the objective facts, laid them out cold and bare. A poor fisherman in Vietnam and a rich banker in Brussels obeyed — and could use — the same laws of thermodynamics.

Sorcery was different. Magic was subjective, dependent on the person through which it was focused, dependent on the task it was being set to. That’s why it was more powerful, but that was also why it was infinitely more difficult to learn and even more difficult to harness effectively. Each sorcerer had to relearn each spell for themselves, essentially recreating magic from scratch. When he had studied under the Ancient One, they had described the necessity to relearn magic from its base as _the distortion of the self._

The lycanthropes had another way of putting it: _The shape you take reflects the person that you are._

So it was understandable that the leadership couldn’t understand the difference between what he had learned over his longer-than-normal but still reasonable lifespan, and what the nogitsune had learned over a thousand years. If the Ancient One and her doddering band of overly moral killjoys hadn’t banned him from the great libraries the Masters of the Mystic Arts protected, who knows how advanced his magic could have been by the present day?

Instead, he had had to hunt for scraps until he was recruited by Hydra. It was certainly better than nothing, but he would never get those decades of practice and study back. And he was going to introduce the next idiot who badmouthed the Bloodstorm Project into what he had learned about death magic through it. They couldn’t even get the details right — it hadn’t been an attempt to create artificial vampires; it had been an attempt to recreate the spell that created the first vampire. 

Fools.

But there was a threat he couldn’t ignore. They were going to try to groom Fox to replace him as head of the DOA. He wasn’t going to be tolerate that. What he needed to do was get rid of Fox without making it look like he was behind it. He had all he needed to continue Project Vargulf even if the void kitsune had met its end. 

He picked up the phone, still listening with one ear to the conversation at the Watergate, and dialed Dr. Ranefer. He was suspicious of her as well. Fox was personable and funny and sympathetic to her stories about dead parents. In this case, it was going to come in handy. 

“Doctor, I’m going to be delayed in returning.”

“Everything okay?” the researcher asked, absently. 

“No. Things are afoot in Fox’s hometown. I need to go there and see to things personally.”

“Should I alert him?” Dr. Ranefer was nothing if not predictable.

“His presence may exacerbate the situation. I will leave it up to your discretion, but my gut feeling would be that we should keep this between us.”

Ranefer grunted her acceptance. 

“I will see you when I get back.” 

Belial hung up the phone. He was about to demonstrate how much _spunk_ his plans could have.

**~*~**

“Okay, Skye, Fitzsimmons, I’m going to need you to clear the room.” Coulson turned to them regretfully.

“What?” Skye demanded. 

May took Skye by the arm. “Black Flags are classified at level six and above.” 

Skye made an exasperated sound and shrugged out of May’s grip. “When?”

FitzSimmons noticed this and stopped their exit as well. Skye knew them. They were probably just as curious as they were.

“What do you mean, when?” Coulson replied.

“When was it set as a Black Flag?” 

May glanced at the file. “1949. One of the first thing Peggy Carter did after SHIELD was found was set up a process for recognizing and addressing threats, including those that had passed.”

Skye swallowed. “That’s what I mean. This was classified forty years before I was born.”

“Yes.” Coulson put his hands on his hips. “And?”

“And over sixty years before the Battle of New York. You classify things because you don’t want the truth to get out, but look at what we did in this room for the last hour? We found connections because we had access to all the information. This is what we do.”

May scowled at her, eyes dropping to the bracelet.

Skye sighted and pointed at Fitzsimmons. “This is what they do.” She then stood up. “No, this is what _we_ do. I know I screwed up, but I also know that the one thing I bring to this team is a different point of view, a way of looking at the material that isn’t taught at the SHIELD Academy. I can’t help if I’m not given access.”

“It’s not up to us,” May responded.

“Actually,” Coulson said slowly, “I do have the authority to declassify materials in certain situations.” 

May twisted her said to the side. “Subject to review.” 

“How bad is it?” Ward walked over to the table.

“It’s bad.”

Skye had locked eyes with Coulson. She wasn’t going to plead. She wanted him to see the wisdom of letting them help. 

“Go on, May.” Coulson relented. “You three can stay. I’m trusting you.”

May’s frown could freeze ice cubs, but she accepted the order. “In 1943, a temporary relocation camp had been set up to handle Japanese internees resulting from Roosevelt issuing Executive Order 9066 at Oak Creek, a neighborhood in Beacon Hills. It made use of a currently existing hospital, a mental health facility called Eichen House.”

Skye grimaced. Japanese interment was bad enough. 

“Apparently, the camp physician employed some enlisted men assigned to the center as guards in a scheme to sell medical supplies on the black market. Medical supplies intended for the internees.” May summarized dispassionately.

Coulson let his head drop in disgust, while behind him, Ward rolled his eyes. Coulson gestured for her to continue. “I’m sure that I don’t want to know where this is going.”

May started putting up photographs and reports. “According to the records, there was an outbreak of pneumonia among the inmates, and as a consequence to the smuggling ring, there simply wasn’t enough medicine to combat it. Ten Japanese-Americans died in the outbreak, including a child. The internees must have discovered the doctor’s scheme and there was a riot.”

“How many died?” Simmons covered her mouth at the photographs of the dead.

“Guards opened fired on the internees. Twenty-five were killed. A half-dozen guards and nurses were also killed during the riots.”

“Welcome to the United States,” Ward smirked, “the world’s largest criminal conspiracy two centuries running.”

Coulson rewarded the agent with another glare. “I can understand why the U.S. government wanted to keep this covered up. Why did SHIELD?”

“Because of what happened the next night.” May brought up more pictures of casualties, spread throughout the camp and the neighboring mental health facility. “Someone — or something — killed every single member of the camp staff and at least a third of the internees in a single eight hour period.”

Looking at the pictures, Ward didn’t have anything funny to say. Coulson studied the gruesome prints. 

“I don’t see any sign of gunfire or weapons on the bodies.” Jemma peered at the pictures.

“That’s because whoever killed two-hundred and fifty-seven people in one night did it with their bare hands.” May brought up hastily compiled coroner reports. “According to all the forensics of the time, it had to be someone or something possessing superhuman strength.”

“Okay. That’s disturbing.”

“The S.S.R. was in the middle of prepping Steve Rogers for transformation into Captain America. They didn’t have the resources to investigate, so the military simply covered it up. They couldn’t afford the scandal of the internee deaths or the panic if the public discovered there was a monster loose in Northern California.”

Coulson stepped back. “Could this have any bearing on what happened in Beacon Hills last year?”

“I don’t think we can rule it out.” 

The man in charge turned to Skye. “You wanted access, you have access. I want you to be able to connect this massacre to what’s happening now, or I want you to tell me there’s no connection.” 

Skye nodded and turned to a laptop. One of her search programs had come up with an interesting bit of information. The others had begun talking about Oak Creek, so she had to get their attention. “Uhm. In the interest of full disclosure and to make sure you don’t get even angrier with me …” 

Everyone in the room turned to look at her. 

Skye smiled widely in an attempt to defuse the situation. “I did a search for people of interest connect to Scott McCall with information that isn’t in SHIELD’s files. I got a hit on one of Scott McCall’s teammates on the lacrosse team.” She looked for permission and Coulson nodded. “His name is Daniel Mahealani. He’s a senior.”

“Why is that relevant?” Fitz prodded.

“He’s one of the founding members of the Rising Tide.” 

Ward grimaced. “Great.”

“He was out, though!” Skye protested. “He got caught hacking the FBI five years ago, so he had to quit.”

Jemma did the math. “One of the founders of your hacktivist collective was a 13-year-old boy?”

Skye nodded. “He’s really good. I was thinking …” She trailed off.

“He might have some insight on what’s going on.” Coulson concluded for her. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll meet with McCall’s father and talk to him. Ward, I want you and Simmons to visit Gerard Argent and see what you can make. May I’ll need you to visit this mental health facility and see if anyone has been poking around about Oak Creek. Skye and Fitz, talk to Skye’s contact.”

May checked the time. “We’ll be wheels down in Beacon Hills in three hours.”


	10. Chapter 10

###### October 14, 2013 (Continued)

Phil Coulson had encountered people like Rafael McCall many times during his career. McCall was, by all accounts, a decent agent for the Bureau: conscientious, dedicated, and accommodating. The worst thing that Coulson found in McCall’s personnel file was a reprimand for not taking enough vacation. McCall had never been described as a brilliant agent, but he was said to understand the requirements of the job and carried them out to the best of his abilities. Unlike television shows might lead someone to believe, it wasn’t the rebellious mavericks or quirky geniuses who made institutions work; it was agents like McCall who were the backbone of any law enforcement agency.

However, Rafael McCall’s competence as an agent wasn’t Coulson’s primary concern. It had to do with what he had read between the lines of the personnel file. McCall hadn’t taken a significant amount of time off in three years. It was noted that McCall had been willing to be on call during weekends and most federal holidays. There was no requests for leave which coincided with graduations or sports championships. Given this information and the rather significant three-hour drive between San Francisco and Beacon Hills, Coulson suspected that while the man might be a steadfast agent, he might not be all that much of a father. 

Their conversation during the seven-minute ride from Beacon Hills Airport to 821 Williamson Road did nothing to dispel Coulson’s concerns. Coulson had informed McCall that his son had violated national security and asked some general questions about the young man. McCall’s answers were generic and defensive, yet without any real indication that the FBI agent was hiding anything. Rafael McCall really didn’t know his son that well.

The suburban two-story home which was their destination blended perfectly well in the neighborhood, except for the half-dozen vehicles parked out in front of it. An esoteric mix, including a Shelby Cobra, a Camaro, two Toyotas, and two motorcycles, forced them to park a little ways down the block. It looked like the younger McCall might be having a meeting of his own. Coulson memorized their license plates; it was a knack he had.

In the driver’s seat of his SUV, Rafael McCall frowned at the sight, but he didn’t have anything to add as they approached the front door.

Coulson was still knocking when Scott McCall stepped out of the house, quickly closing the door behind him. “Hey, Dad.” 

He was the definitely the same young man who had called Coulson’s secure line, though, strangely enough, his tone was a lot less friendlier when he spoke to his own father than it had been during the original call. 

“Scott.” Rafael tried to draw himself up into some semblance of authority. “We need to talk to you—”

“Who’s we?” 

“I’m Agent Coulson with SHIELD, and I’m sure you recognize the name. You called me, and I felt that our conversation last time wasn’t long enough, so I thought I’d pay you a visit.” He watched the young man’s face shift from irritation with his father to something a little more akin to anxiety. “May we come in?”

“No.” The anxiety was immediately replaced with determination. “We can talk out here.”

“Look, Scott, it’s probably better if we do this inside.”

“I said no.” 

Rafael McCall gritted his teeth. “This isn’t the time to be stubborn.” 

Scott McCall shook his head. “No, but it is time for you to produce a warrant, because without one, neither of you are coming into my house.”

“I’m your father.” 

Scott cocked his head to the side, as if listening to something far away. “Which now means absolutely nothing. I turned eighteen eight days ago, not that you remembered, which means you no longer have the right to speak for me in legal situations.”

Rafael McCall let out a long frustrated sigh.

“Look, Scott … may I call you Scott?”

The young man nodded. 

Coulson glanced back at the cars. “It looks like we’re interrupting something. Are we?”

“Maybe there is something, maybe there isn’t. Unless you can magic up a warrant or present probable cause that a law is being broken right this instant, you’re not going to find out.” Scott crossed his arms and stood right in front of the door, but his eyes were fixed on his father’s. “I find I’m not very interested in talking to either one of you, so you can go.”

“I’m afraid that I’m not going to be able to do that, Scott,” Coulson tried to sound as conciliatory as he could be, and he looked for a way to exclude the father, who was obviously becoming an obstacle. “Honestly, you and I really need to talk about your phone call.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“Not yet. I’d rather not.”

Rafael McCall wasn’t a total failure as a father, as his posture shifted to one of alarm.

Scott’s eyes were still drifting, as if he were listening to something Coulson couldn’t hear. “If you were to arrest me, what would I be charged with?” 

“Disclosure of Classified Information, which can be punished with fines and imprisonment of up to ten years in a federal facility.” Coulson thought honest would be the best course of action. “I don’t want to take that action over something that could very well be a mistake.”

“Your phone number is classified?”

Coulson nodded. “The one you called certain is.”

“I …” Scott looked at a loss. “I did not know that.”

“So if you don’t want me or your father to come in, maybe you could come with me to someplace where we could sit down and talk this out.” 

The young man stood there, not quite glaring, but frowning slightly, a look of concentration and irritation crossing his face. “Enough! It’s my decision.”

“Excuse me?” Coulson glanced over to Rafael McCall who looked just as confused.

“I’ll go with you on one condition.” Scott pointed at his father. “He doesn’t go with us.”

“Scott!”

Coulson didn’t mind the request, but it would be bad strategy to let him set such an arbitrary term. “That puts me into a very delicate position. Your father is an FBI agent.”

Scott stuck out his slightly misshapen jaw. “If you want me to be cooperative – which trust me, you do – that’s how it’s going to be.”

“Scott!” Rafael spoke in a rushed voice. “I know you’re mad, but you should let me help.”

“I _asked_ for your help when Stiles was kidnapped, but you were too busy conducting impeachment proceedings against his father! You only wanted to talk to me after they were finished, so right now you can Fuck. Off.” 

The FBI agent took a step back. 

“You want to help? Go talk to Mom at work and tell her what’s happening. And don’t try to go inside, because we had the locks changed, and if you break in I’ll have you arrested.”

Rafael McCall looked like he was going to argue, but Coulson put his hand on his arm consolingly. “Your son seems pretty determined, so it’s probably a good idea to do what he wants. It shows we can be reasonable.” Coulson offered his best smile to them both. “I’m not really interested in getting anyone in trouble.”

Scott had been staring at him with his head slightly cocked to the side. “I know this coffee house within walking distance. You don’t mind walking?”

“Not at all.”

They waited until Rafael McCall drove off in his SUV before they began the walk. 

Coulson studied it. “I guess I should apologize.”

The young man was startled. “For what?”

“I brought your father along so you would feel comfortable. It seemed to have an effect opposite of what I intended.”

“You couldn’t have known.” The young man relaxed as Coulson had planned. “You could have just arrested me, I suppose, so I appreciate the effort. I’ll apologize in advance, too.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m probably not going to tell you all you want to know.”

Coulson smiled, good-naturedly. “Maybe. I’m told I can be pretty persuasive.”

They reached the coffee shop. Surprisingly, it was not a Starbucks or any other chain. Scott held the door for him; the place was all wood with mismatched chairs. There was only one bored barista and a single hipster staring at his laptop in frustrated creativity. 

“Sit where you want,” Scott offered. Coulson noticed that Scott wasn’t intimidated by the difference in their ages or by his occupation. “Do you like coffee?”

“Sure.”

In a moment, Scott sat down across from Coulson. “I’ve been stalling.”

Coulson nodded. “I can tell. I am a professional.”

“Would you believe me when I told you that I didn’t know the phone number was classified information?”

“I would.”

Scott relaxed, but only a little bit. “I can’t tell you who I got it from. Well, I could, but I won’t.”

“Well, that is a problem.”

“Maybe if I tell you why? They have some information I need. If I tell you who they are and they get in trouble, they won’t be able to give it to me.”

Coulson sipped his coffee, slowly and deliberately, to indicate that he was considering the young man’s problem. “I can see your problem, but that’s not enough. I’m going to need more information.”

Scott frowned at his own untouched cup. “Last year, my best friend was committed to a mental health facility. While he was there, someone kidnapped him. Whoever did it killed a three orderlies and stole an ambulance. You’re law enforcement, I’m sure you could get the file that confirms what I’m saying.”

“Most likely.”

“No one’s found him.” Scott didn’t lift his eyes from the coffee cup. “The police can’t find him. The FBI couldn’t find him, once they were convinced to start looking. Everyone …” 

The young man fell silent. Coulson had seen the same emotions play over the faces of the loved ones of many abductees. 

“Your source says he knows where to find your friend.”

“Yeah. I … demanded proof that he was for real. He gave me your number and told me to ask you that question.”

Coulson repeated the question Scott has asked him. “How did the girl in the flower dress escape?” 

Scott nodded. 

“And something I told you convinced you that this individual had real knowledge about what had happened.” 

Scott nodded again.

“Well, I’m not sure I can leave it like this. You and your friend are obviously involved in something big. You might be in over your head.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Scott muttered.

Coulson contemplated the boy before him. That sounded something way too world-weary for a kid this age, but he’d seen worse. The files were full of teenagers that should be at school or preparing for prom becoming victims of schemes greater than themselves. _The files!_ He remembered something in the Red Event files about a power outage affecting the whole town of Beacon Hills. He hadn’t made the connection before. 

“So,” Scott finally said. “Are you going to arrest me?”

Taking a big sip of his coffee, Coulson shook his head. “Not today. I might want to talk to you tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

“Sure. Need my phone number?”

“I already have it.” Coulson stood up. “I believe you didn’t know what you were doing was wrong, and I believe you think you’re doing the right thing now. I’m not so sure. Tomorrow I’ll do my best to convince you to give me that name, but for now, I’m going to have to ask you not to leave the city.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Thanks for the coffee.”

Coulson left the coffee shop, but he waited until he was out of earshot until he dialed Agent May. “If you’re at the facility, see if a Stiles Stilinski was a patient there. He was reportedly kidnapped from there. Something is definitely going on here. I think Centipede’s been active in Beacon Hills. Be careful.”

When he ended the call, he turned around. Scott McCall was staring at him from the window of the coffee shop.

**~*~**

“Well, this is most certainly depressing.” Jemma Simmons’ lips curled in disgust as the agents walked down the hallway of the retirement home. The patterned carpet was threadbare, the wallpaper faded, and the lighting dimmer than it should have been. The numbers on the doors were small and hard to read.

“Welcome to getting old,” Ward deadpanned as he watched Simmons study her surroundings. “Tapioca and Vick’s vapor rub, all day, every day.”

Jemma chuckled. “You don’t really believe that.” 

“I do.”

“I doubt your parents live this way.”

A shade of something unknowable passed over Ward’s face. “No.” He shrugged the awkwardness away. “They’re rich and influential. They’ll never have to live in a place like this.”

“Honestly, that’s exactly what’s been bothering me.” Jemma, seeing Ward’s discomfort, changed the subject as quickly as she could. “We’ve identified him as one of the owners of Argent Arms, which you’ve indicated supplies forty percent of the police forces in the United States with firearms and ammunition. Why would he be living in a facility like this?”

“I don’t think he’s actually the owner; he’s listed as one of the primary stockholders and sits on the board of directors, but from what I know, he doesn’t spend a lot of time selling weapons. One of the weird things about the company is that they market themselves specifically to rural police forces, especially those west of the Mississippi. SHIELD and federal agencies don’t use the company nor do most urban police forces, but Argent Arms doesn’t seem interested in trying to get them to.”

Jemma stopped and turned to face the specialist with a look of disbelief. 

“Simmons, I’ve listened to you list of the taxonomy of every bush in a thicket before. You like trees; I like guns.”

“Fair enough.” She returned to walking down the hallway. “When first diagnosed, Mr. Argent made contact with all the top-of-the-line cancer treatment programs: the Mayo Clinic, private Swiss doctors, the best of the best. I simply find it odd that once he’s the beneficiary of a medical miracle, his family decides to seclude him in this frankly … unpleasant … care home. It makes me wonder if there is more going on than simple estrangement. Could they be punishing him?”

Ward pursed his lips. “Let’s find out.” He knocked on the door. 

An irritable voice called out from behind the door. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Argent, we’re agents from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We’d like to talk to you if you have a moment.” Ward announced through the door. “May we come in?”

There was a pause before the man spoke again. “Come on in. The door’s open.”

Ward and Simmons entered the dingy apartment just in time to see a wheelchair-bound Gerard Argent place a .45 pistol on his dining room table. The room was even dimmer than the hallway outside, and it was ripe with a sour scent, like someone had thrown old milk into a lit fireplace. Jemma, as a scientist, had encountered far worse smells that that before, while Ward remained professional as always.

The specialist immediately eyed the pistol, sliding easily in front of Jemma. “I’m Agent Grant Ward and this is Agent Jemma Simmons. Thank you for talking to us.”

“Whether I’m actually going to be doing any talking remains to be seen, and it depends entirely upon the subject.” The old man wiped at his mouth with a tissue, cleaning away the disgusting black gunk which had gathered there. 

The garbage cans in the room were filled with soaked tissues, some so full their rancid contents spilled out over the floor. Along with the dinginess, their presence gave the apartment an unhealthy aura. However, Jemma saw that Mr. Argent was not destitute; the computer on his desk was from the high-end of the commercial spectrum and a significant portion of the library that covered the walls were from the eighteenth century or earlier.

“Good morning, Mr. Argent. I’m with SHIELD’s scientific division. We hoped that you might have changed your mind about talking to us about your medical condition.”

The man grunted and glanced away, irritated. 

“All the reports we’ve received tell us that your cancer is in full remission, but offer no explanation for the troubling biological phenomenon you’re experience. As a biochemist, I thought that if you would permit me to administer some tests, I might be able to get to the bottom of whatever is happening to you. With some effort, we might be able to find a cure.”

Gerard gave her a venomous look, his already prickly demeanor descended into something outright hostile. “I’ll tell you what I told the last time SHIELD sent lab jockeys to poke at me; I’m not interested in your attempts at a cure. You’ve come a long way for nothing.”

Jemma was taken aback not only by his unfriendly tone, but also by the sentiment expressed. She looked to Ward, but Ward was completed focused on the old man. As if he had confirmed something, Ward nodded to himself.

She couldn’t help herself. “Agent?”

“He already knows what’s happening to him,” Ward accused. “Yet for some reason he doesn’t want our help.”

With a ghastly black-stained smile, the old man glared at the specialist. “You’re smarter than the ones they sent last time.”

“Mr. Argent,” Jemma tried her most diplomatic voice, “surely you don’t want to continue living like this if we can help you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” the man grumbled. “I’m not living like this because I enjoy it, but this conversation is over until you tell me why you’re _really_ here.” 

“Mr. Argent—”

“Young lady, you may be a doctor, but I can tell that this young man here is a trained killer.” Gerard’s eyes glittered with intelligence. “It takes one to know one. They wouldn’t send someone like him on a routine checkup, now would they?”

Ward didn’t betray any surprise in his posture. “You’re right.”

“You want to know what I know, then you’ll tell me what triggered this little _follow-up_ visit.” 

Jemma hesitated. It wasn’t proper protocol to reveal information about an ongoing investigation to a possible witness. Ward turned to face her, making sure that his face was obscured from Mr. Argent’s, and he winked where the old man couldn’t see.

“He probably knows anything we could possibly tell him.”

Jemma nodded as confidently as she could. Obviously, Ward had an angle he wanted to play. 

The specialist turned back to the old man in a wheelchair. “Let me tell you what I think is happening. Your family’s rich enough to put you in a home much nicer than this, but they – or you – chose this place for other reasons. I think you’re not in a better quality facility because that is exactly where your enemies would be looking for you. We happened to find you because SHIELD can access medical records if it concerns matters of national security; most law enforcement agencies can’t do that without a court order. This means no one who knew about your family’s wealth would ever think to look for you here. I, personally, think you wanted to remain in Beacon County, close to all the action.”

“Action?” Gerard snorted around his dripping goo. “What type of action would an old man like me be involved in?”

“Last year, this county experienced a pretty high body count when it came to violent crime, including your daughter and your daughter-in-law.” 

Jemma almost gasped at Ward’s impersonal delivery of that information. 

“Yes.” Gerard gruesomely sneered. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Boring me isn’t going to get my cooperation.”

“What would?” 

“I already told you. Tell me why you – and you specifically – are here _now._ ”

Ward glanced at Jemma who understood what the specialist was trying to ask. How far did they want to take this? Jemma bit her lip as her concern about protocol warred with her natural curiosity. “Do you know anything about Scott McCall?”

“Agent Ward. Agent Simmons. I know _everything_ about Scott McCall.” The man chuckled. “He’s the boy that poisoned me.”

“Poisoned?” 

Ward was less shocked than Jemma had been. “Why would a high-school senior do that?”

“Why do you think?” Gerard Argent rolled over to get a new tissue. “Because he considers me an enemy.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes, frustrated. “I’m afraid that I’m very bad at guessing games, Mr. Argent. We’re trying to help you. Do you know what he poisoned you with?”

The old man’s eyes glittered. “Mountain ash.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

“ _Sorbus californica,_ I suspect.” The old man wiped at his eyes, where black liquid was coming out of his tear ducts. “Kids today are all about local sourcing?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that poison.”

Ward cut in. “I’m wondering why you didn’t go to the police if he did this to you.”

The old man snorted. “Do you know who Scott McCall’s childhood friend is? No? It’s Mieczyslaw Stilinski. And the sheriff of Beacon County is …”

“Noah Stilinski.” 

“I suspect you’ve already met both young men’s fathers, and you did mention the deaths last year. Tell me that you didn’t find anything … missing … in the police reports?”

Ward and Simmons looked at each other. The entire team had noticed some discrepancies, which had only fueled the boss’s desire to get to the bottom of the situation.

“I see that you have. When you get finished digging, you’ll find that all those bodies lead back to one person.”

Jemma conquered the urge to call Coulson right away. 

“You’re telling me a high-school senior is responsible for all this death?” Ward scoffed.

The old man raised both hands to demonstrate his sincerity. “You’ll find that monsters come in all sizes, shapes, and _ages._ Keep at it, and come back when you’ve opened your eyes.”

**~*~**

Melinda May had, in her career, toured a lot of different facilities. No matter what type of criminal enterprise, deep-cover conspiracy, or enemy program she was investigating, the bad guys tended to have an actual physical location as a central meeting point. Some insurgencies could get away with a cell structure, but that always limited the scope of what they could accomplish. The larger and more established a conspiracy was, a location to serve as a nexus for logistics, training, and command became absolutely necessary.

Furthermore, if an organization had a secret facility, it either had to be built out in the middle of nowhere so none of their enemies could find it, or it had to have an appropriate cover. If some suburban housewife could see your assault squads leaving the building behind her daycare, they were going to call 911.

Thus, one of the key skills a field operative had to master was how to case a building under the guise of a visit. The skills necessary were the same if they were visiting undercover or openly as an agent. 

How did the staff act? What did they want to show the visitor? What did they not want to show the visitor? How easily did they talk about their procedures? Was a particular door too heavy for its stated purpose? Was there tightened security in one wing of the building and not another? You could tell a lot about a place by a thorough, professional evaluation.

Melinda May had completed a very professional evaluation of Eichen House and found it disturbing as fuck.

She possessed instincts honed by years as a SHIELD agent, and every single one of those instincts lit up the moment she stepped into this mental health facility. She had no idea how this place even maintained a license, let alone had any patients. In the sullen and dingy interior, the patients seemed uniformly emotionally exhausted; the orderlies and other staff members seemed to have had hostility and general creepiness ground into their skin. 

May was led to the office of the Director, a seemingly pleasant man named Fenris, by an orderly whose name tag read Schrader. The orderly stared at her for so long she had to beat down the urge to punch the man in the throat.

She listened to Dr. Fenris’ welcome, noting what he didn’t say. Eichen House wasn’t a place where you sent people to get better. It was a place where you sent people to forget about them. She had seen other places like this before, all over the world.

“What can you tell me about the Oak Creek camp?”

“Oak Creek? You mean the old military base out back?”

“That would be the one.”

“It’s been abandoned since the Second World War. I think the land is still owned by the federal government, but it’s not affiliated with Eichen House in any way.” The man seemed confused by the question. 

“I was told that it was administered from Eichen House back then.”

Without any evidence of a lie on his face, Dr. Fenris looked baffled. “I’ve never heard of any connection between the two. Well, other than the rumors …”

“Rumors?”

“Supposedly some of the tunnels in the basement levels actually lead to what remains of the camp. I’ve never looked into it, and the chief orderlies have always made sure that the lesser used part of the basement and the subbasements are sealed off. If we are linked to Oak Creek, no one in this building has ever used those tunnels.”

“Would it be possible for me to get a tour?”

“Of course,” Dr. Fenris replied. “I will take you on a tour myself.”

To be fair, his tour was exhaustive, from the top floor of the five-story building down to the basement. The doctor kept her on the main staircases and in the more brightly lit areas. Patients seemed a little more active when they reached the personal floors, and Dr. Fenris explained that they tried to give those patients deemed harmless as much freedom as they could handle, but the place hadn’t been designed with ideas about the proper supervision of common areas in mind. 

When they entered the administration wing of the facility, May heard a noise that had to have been a suppressed pistol firing. Contrary to popular belief, silence shots weren’t totally silent, and she had heard her fair share of them. 

“What was that?” She demanded. 

“What was what?”

“I swore I heard gunfire.” May opened the door marked _Head Orderly_ only to find it empty, even of furniture.

Dr. Fenris looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Who uses this office?”

“Our previous head orderly … passed away last year. I’ve divided his duties up among the administrative staff.” 

The room bothered her. Its emptiness seemed deliberate. 

“Eichen House has strange acoustics.” 

May whirled. Someone had actually sneaked up behind her without her knowing about it. Dr. Fenris seemed to have been startled as well. 

“Marin, I wish you wouldn’t do that. Agent May, this is Ms. Marin Morrell, one of our counselors. Marin, this is Agent Melinda May of SHIELD.”

This new woman carried herself enigmatically, cool and smooth. May couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being analyzed as thoroughly as she was analyzing the professional. 

“My pleasure. It’s best to not to pay too much attention to what you hear when you’re in this hospital, Agent May. The way it was built creates a strange audial effect.”

“Does it?”

“Yes,” Morrell smiled. “Everything echoes. That’s why they call it Echo House.”

Dr. Fenris frowned. “You know I’ve discouraged the use of that name.”

“That’s fascinating.” May studied the hallway. “Was it on purpose?”

“You know,” Morrell tilted her head to the side. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“I’d try yes or no.”

Dr. Fenris looked between the two women, at a loss. 

“Conrad, how about I finish Agent May’s tour?” Ms. Morrell offered the man a slightly insincere smile. “I’m fascinated by the mentality of people who go into law enforcement.”

“I’m not a psychologist,” May replied, “but I heard psychopaths gravitate towards the occupation.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that. Come with me.” Ms. Morrell started down the corridor. May followed. Dr. Fenris looked after them in amazement as he had been ditched. 

The counselor led her up to the fifth floor. 

“Dr. Fenris showed me this level.”

“Yes.” Ms. Morrell unlocked the door. The room was empty. “You can see what you’re interested in from here.” 

The window revealed the over-grown lot and decrepit buildings of what must have been Oak Creek. 

“How did you know I was asking about that place?”

Mr. Morrell calmly crossed her arms. “I told you. Here, everything echoes. I heard you talking about it in Fenris’ office.”

May narrowed her eyes. She doubted that. “He didn’t know anything about the connection between Oak Creek and Eichen House. Do you?”

The woman turned to look her directly in the face. “Yes.”

Before the agent could press it her phone rang. It was Coulson. She stepped back, but she never took her eyes off of Ms. Morrell. “Got it. I’ll see you back at the Bus soon.” She hung up and slid the phone back in her pocket. 

“Interesting news?” The counselor sounded as if they were old friend, and they were at lunch.

“Do you see all the patients here, counselor?”

“I run group therapy and I see specific patients that fall within my area of expertise.” 

“Did you have a patient named Stiles Stilinski?”

She wasn’t expecting a reaction from the counselor, and she didn’t get one. This woman was very competent in keeping her emotions in check.

“I did.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was kidnapped from the hospital. Several orderlies were killed to facilitate it.”

“Kidnapped?” May asked. “Did they ask for ransom?”

Only the slightest twitch in her eye revealed that Ms. Morrell may have made a mistake. “There was no ransom. Perhaps abducted would have been a better word.” 

“Do you know who was responsible?”

“I have no idea. If I did, the police would know. But the sheriff never found out and neither did the FBI.”

“I see. Do you have an idea why they kidnapped this particular patient?”

The counselor smiled. “A much better question. Stiles Stilinski is a very special young man.”

“How so?”

“If you check his school records, his medical records, and the files for the police investigation into his abduction, you’ll find that he was a normal seventeen-year-old with natural intelligence, ADHD, and maybe the beginnings of some emotional problems, but nothing out of the ordinary.” 

“That doesn’t sound particularly special.”

Ms. Morrell grinned. “Which is why they’re worthless. I am not at liberty to discuss the details, and frankly, you may find it hard to believe what I have to say.”

May jutted out her jaw. “Try me.” 

“I believe that Stiles Stilinski may have been gifted with electrokinesis.” 

Both of May’s eyebrows lifted to her hairline. 

“I told you that you wouldn’t believe me. Not many people would, which is why I won’t repeat that to anyone else, even under threat of penalty. But if you’re interested in what happened to him and to Oak Creek, you’ll bear that in mind.”

“So, why are you telling me now?”

“Two years ago, I wouldn’t have, but I know that SHIELD has connections with enhanced individuals.” 

May studied the woman carefully. She got the feeling that Morrell knew more, but she wasn’t going to say anything. The counselor had said just enough to direct May’s interest in a direction that she wanted.

“You’ve been very helpful.”

Marin Morrell smiled. “I try to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorbus californica_ is the scientific name for California mountain ash.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is an homage to the Marvel Cinematic Universe and Teen Wolf. I don't own the characters.

###### October 14, 2013 (Continued)

For a town in Northern California, Beacon Hills didn’t have many places to buy an espresso. It weirded Skye out.

“I don’t get it,” Skye grimaced at her companion. “You’re acting like you’ve never been to a coffee shop.”

“I have!” Fitz objected. “But never on a mission though.”

Skye chuckled. “This isn’t undercover work. We’re meeting a contact, and the biggest danger we’ll be facing is the chance that the coffee’s really bad.” She pulled open the door for him, yet he stopped on the threshold. 

“I appreciate what you did.”

She glanced around in confusion. “I’m holding the door.”

“No, I appreciate what you said to Coulson about us needing information in order to do our jobs. It might seem a little thing, but I’m glad someone recognizes what we do.”

“No problem, Fitz. I’m sure the boss does sees it, too.”

The cafe where they had been directed wasn’t part of a chain, so the tables and chairs were mismatched and a few looked more than a little rickety, but the atmosphere was homey. This was a good thing, as Skye wouldn’t really be able to tell the difference between chain coffee-shop coffee and non-chain coffee-shop coffee. For someone like her, caffeine was as vital as air and who cared from whence it came?

A good-sized crowd, mostly college-aged, buzzed around the place. Fitz looked around, tonguing his cheek. “Do you know what he looks like?” 

“No. Most of the founders never even told me their names, so we’ve got an advantage in this case.”

“How are we going to find him?”

Skye raised her hand and waved it about. “Danny, you in here?” 

“Skye?” In the back corner, two young men had commandeered a table. One of them waved a hand. “Over here!”

As they made their way to the back of the shop, the agents got a better look at their contact. Skye whistled softly. “Well, that’s surprising.”

Fitz leaned forward. “What is?”

“He’s _hot._ ” Skye pulled out a chair in front of the man had called out to her. “Hey. Glad you could meet me. I was just telling my friend here that you’re not what I expected.”

“That makes two of us. I didn’t expect you to be working for SHIELD.”

“She’s a consultant,” Fitz added helpfully. 

“This is Leo Fitz,” Skye settled in her chair. “He’s with SHIELD’s Sci-Tech Division. I wasn’t sure you’d meet with me, given it’s been six years since I last talked to you and that was right before you got caught.”

“Not a problem. My juvenile record is sealed, and I don’t hack anymore.” Danny gestured to the muscular man sitting next to him. “This is my boyfriend, Ethan. I’m curious about what you did expect.”

Skye shrugged. “Honestly, I thought I’d get the stereotypical hygiene-challenged edge lord who lives in his mother’s basement.”

The boyfriend sat up straight, clearly offended. Fitz looked at Skye, shocked. 

She shrugged. “One of the reasons I was with Miles was because I thought he had his shit together compared to other people.” 

The boyfriend leaned and whispered into Danny’s ear, but the man’s smile never vanished.

“No, Ethan, she’s right. Hacking often appeals to boys without physical talents or social skills; the use it as a means of generating self-esteem. Luckily, I had a family that was both understanding and engaged and I had an ambitious best friend with a lot of loyalty yet dangerously low levels of empathy. Though I don’t think I would’ve been an edge lord even if I didn’t play lacrosse.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” the man named Ethan said sourly.

“I’ve heard the term, but I couldn’t identify one,” Fitz offered. 

Danny waited until the agents were both seated and had ordered drinks. “Honestly, you aren’t what I expected either.”

Skye smirked. “And what did you expect? Braces at twenty four?”

“A rebel.”

Skye’s smirk died. 

“Everyone grows up eventually, Skye. What can I do for you today?”

Skye took a sip of her coffee to gather her thoughts, as Ward had taught her when teaching about undercover work. She didn’t want to press too hard, too quickly. Danny had been cautious even when he was thirteen, first to ditch a hack at any sign of trouble. 

“We came here to investigate a breach in SHIELD security, but we think we may have stumbled on something more,” Skye finally said, opting for the truth.

“Is that why you wanted to talk to me? You think I hacked SHIELD?” Danny asked, neither irritated nor afraid. “I can assure you I didn’t.”

“It wasn’t a hack.” Skye shook his head. “We tracked the breach back to someone in Beacon Hills. On our way here, we did a basic background check, and we’ve found a lot of very strange things happening here. Things you used to be very interested in.”

Danny became more alert, and his boyfriend botched looking disinterested. “I’ve heard some things.”

Fitz got out his smart phone. “We’re trying to find a pattern that links different events that happened in 2012 and earlier. They seem to center around a group of people who are about your age. They’re probably in school with you.”

Danny hummed as if thinking, but Skye watched his face start to close down. He was thinking of strategies to avoid answering questions, and they were going to lose him. “Do you know a Scott McCall?”

The name brought only a flicker of eyelids to Danny, but Ethan started coughing into his hand. 

“He’s a friend. We played on the lacrosse team together.”

“What do you think of him?”

Danny was cooler than before. “Scott’s a good guy, though as you can probably tell, he’s gone through a lot in the last year though.”

“We noticed.”

“He’s not the only one,” Ethan suggested. “I only caught the tail end of everything when I moved to town last year, but a lot of people had to deal with a lot of bad shit.”

“Scott’s a bit of a good Samaritan,” Danny leaned forward conspiratorially. “He likes helping people, and when bad things happen, he tends to want to get involved.”

“You were like that too.”

“Oh no!” Danny shrugged. “I was curious, Skye. I wanted to _know_ things, and getting involved brings with it the necessity of _doing_ things.”

“So do you know how Scott McCall could have gotten ahold of classified SHIELD data?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t know. But even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you.” 

Fitz’s mouth dropped open but Skye sighed. “SHIELD is only trying to help people.”

“I’m sure it does try,” Danny said, “but it also has a habit of locking away things that are even the least bit dangerous. I know about a lot of strange things in Beacon Hills, but I learned enough when I was with the Rising Tide to remember that the people you work for think nothing of vanishing those things it finds new and strange.”

“Are you telling me, Danny, that you’re okay with all the people who have died and disappeared?”

“No,” Danny shook his head. “I’m most certainly am not. They were horrible, terrible times, but they’re over. We haven’t had a murder for close to a year. The sheriff, and people like the sheriff, have worked hard to protect us citizens. We don’t need SHIELD here.”

Fitz shook his head. “Accessing classified data is a pretty serious crime. If you know something …”

Ethan slapped his hand on the table, hard. Everyone in the cafe looked over at the four of them. “That sounded like a threat. I hope you’re not trying to intimidate my boyfriend into talking to you.”

“No,” Fitz shook his head. “But …”

“That’s good.”

Danny patted Ethan’s arm. “I know you two want me to believe that SHIELD is here to protect people, but I’m not sure that’s true. Are you here to protect us or are you to here to protect SHIELD? Skye, you and I used to spend our nights fighting against the very concept of classified material.”

“This …” Skye hesitated. “I’ve met people in SHIELD who are exactly who they say are. I’ve helped them struggle against people who use and manipulate others.”

“You trust them?”

“I do.”

“And I’ve found people I can trust here, who work to help others.”

Skye and Fitz looked at each other. 

“You should try the Danish.” Danny lifted his coffee in salute. “And then you should go home. You’re not going to find the answers you seek.”

**~*~**

Stiles stared at the video screen in the operator bay of the quinjet, surprising himself at how calmly he was taking the news. His only visible reaction was a cock of his head to the side as he digested the information he had just received; he didn’t destroy anything in a rage. “Thank you, Ayla.”

“There’s no reason to thank me. I simply thought you should know.”

“None-the-less, this could be seen as choosing a side.”

“Belial wanted me to draw you there, while maintaining his own plausible deniability. I don’t know what he has planned, but I don’t like being manipulated by people whom I consider my colleagues. Intra-departmental power games interfere with my research.”

“Games are sort of my thing, Ayla.”

The scientist clucked her tongue. “You have a good excuse; you have a physical need to play such games. Gregory’s just being a dick. If you want to pay me back, then settle this between you two, once and for all. Ranefer out.”

Stiles sat back slowly in the chair. Beacon Hills was now in play, and his sorcerer-slash-boss was heading there as well as Director Fury’s personal task force. It was everything he hadn’t wanted.

When he had been human and only human, Stiles might have panicked for a bit before settling down and focusing on what needed to be done. Luckily, the nogitsune had centuries of practice in reacting to things going wrong. That knowledge, that poise, served him well in Hydra.

“Sir?” The pilot approached him. 

“Mmm?”

“We’re due back in D.C. We need to take off in the next few minutes to make the next check. Are you ready to go?”

Stiles stood up. “I won’t be coming with you. Return to base.” 

“Yes, sir.”

He bent down and picked up an action bag. He didn’t want to do this. He had worked very hard to stay away from his home, to avoid the people he loved now that he had become transformed into something new. 

Stiles stalked down the ramp and away, pausing only long enough to watch quinjet take off successfully. On the street, he found a sporty red 2012 Ford Mustang. He hadn’t been a fan of the design, but he needed to get to Beacon Hills as quickly as he could, and Mustangs had power. If he ignored enough traffic laws he could get there within twenty-four hours. 

“Ugh.” The owner of the car was a smoker. Stiles took a moment to dump the ashtray’s contents out the window. He resolved to stop by a gas station and get an air freshener for his sensitive nose. Otherwise, the car appeared to be very well cared for. It wasn’t satisfying to steal things no one valued.

He pulled out and took the back way out of the airport, which was just outside the security envelope of Havenworth Federal Penitentiary. It’d take him two hours to reach Interstate 80 driving as fast as he could down the back roads of Kansas. 

Seriously, he was amazed. He was taking the bad news with far too little violence, and it surprised him. Stiles alone would have been tied up in worried knots about what was going to happen to his friends and pack. The nogitsune alone would have been offended and full of rage that Belial and Fury’s special task force were twisting his arm and make him go somewhere he had decidedly not wanted to go.

Yet, while he was determine, he was calm. Did he no longer care about them?

That was not true. That would never be true. He cared about his dad, about Scott, about Lydia, and about Derek as much as he ever did. He cared about Isaac and Allison only slightly less, and Peter and the twins a lot less. They were his family, his friends, his pack, even though he didn’t see any way he could be with them anymore. The lack of panic, the lack of emotional upheaval, didn’t indicate an absence of care, but a confidence that his caring wouldn’t be pointless.

He was going to be able to handle going back emotionally, as long as he didn’t interact with any of those people. He was an adult now, and he understood his own weaknesses and what he was capable of doing. 

He also didn’t plan to physically contact any of those people, because he was sure that would end with them being opened up to manipulation by the sorcerer. Gregory Belial wasn’t going to walk around Beacon Hills hurling lightning bolts and fireballs any time soon, but he had a host of other magics at his command, and what he couldn’t do personally he could order agents to do for him. The worst case scenario would be if Belial learned that Scott was the True Alpha and thus the key to his restraining torc; Belial would definitely try to kill Scott then.

Stiles would be hard pressed to protect Scott alone. The worst part was that with the restraining torc still in place, he couldn’t even scheme to hurt Belial in return. He had room at the edges to skirt the restriction but very little.

He needed to start moving pieces sooner than tomorrow. He needed to run interference and he couldn’t do that from Kansas.

Stiles smiled as that though led to an idea.

At the next stop sign, Stiles dug out his phone and started looking up web sites. Enhanced reflexes allowed him to do it while driving with only a minimum of risk. It took him maybe fifteen minutes of digging to get what he needed. Activating the SHIELD voice changer application, he dialed a number he knew by heart.

“Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital.”

“Hello, may I speak to Melissa McCall?”

“Hold please. Who may I ask is calling?”

“Adrian Fosdyck, Assistant Dean of Admissions for Kansas State University.”

He was placed on hold which treated him to the Musak version of “My Sharona” by The Knack. Stiles couldn’t be sure which evil demigod of irony had thought this was a good idea. The prairie countryside sped past his window.

“Hello, this is Melissa McCall. You’re … Mr. Fosdyck?”

“Yes, Mrs. McCall. Your son Scott gave us this number as part of his contact information. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him, but he isn’t answering his phone.”

This would only work on Melissa, Stiles had concluded. Werewolf hearing might pick up the voice changer’s distortion.

“Well, Scott is a little busy nowadays. What can I do for you Mr. Fosdyck?”

“Your son indicated that he might be interested in attending Kansas State with an eye to eventually enrolling in the College of Veterinary Medicine. We’re planning to have a barbecue, a workshop, and an open house this weekend for prospective students. Given your son’s interest, I wanted to call and ask him if it would be possible for him to come visit us.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Melissa’s voice sounded near deliriously happy. Stiles had been confident that she wouldn’t have changed that much in a year, and that she would be overjoyed to deal with something in Scott’s life remotely similar to other high school seniors. “But I really don’t know if he can afford to go out there …”

“It’s not a problem. If he can get to Manhattan, we’ll put him up in a dorm and his meals will be free.” 

Stiles could hear the reluctance in Melissa’s voice to turn down the offer. “Well, that’s so far to go, and he has class.” 

“I’m sure Beacon Hills High School gives seniors days off to visit colleges. If he left tomorrow morning, or even tomorrow afternoon, he wouldn’t be missing that much class. We’d really like to show him what he’d experience here at Kansas State.”

There was a pause. Stiles could imagine the look on Melissa face, motherly concern warring with determination to make sure Scott got the opportunities that he deserved. He bullshitted his way through her questions until she had to go back to work, as he knew she would have to.

“Tell you what, Mrs. McCall, we’ll leave a spot open in the dorms and in the programs. We’d love it if Scott would be able to attend. If he manages to get here, have him look me up at the admissions office.”

“Okay. Thank you for calling, Mr. Fosdyck.”

Stiles hung up and tossed the phone to the seat. If Scott and Melissa fell for it, Scott would be out of town for at least three days — long enough for Stiles to find Belial and make him leave his family alone.

**~*~**

Coulson paid the cab driver off as he got back to the field; Special Agent McCall had been the one to drive him to the house. Cab fare was a small price to pay to get his interview with the suspect back on the right track.

Coulson had always appreciated the smaller, less busy cities, and Beacon Hills certainly could pull of the appearance of a sleepy Northern California town. At the airfield, a gentle breeze stirred the grass, and cicadas sung their plainsong in the September afternoon. 

Unfortunately, it was an illusion. Something dangerous was happening here. 

He pulled out his phone as he headed toward their plane. He had already been contacted on the way back by both May and Ward. Their brief summaries had confirmed what he believed, but he had stopped them from giving the full report. He wanted the team fully reassembled before into detail. His instincts screamed that this wasn’t going to be an obvious answer. He dialed Skye’s number.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Skye, did you find your contact?”

“I did. I didn’t realize he knew the suspect personally. While I didn’t come up empty handed, I didn’t get much.”

“Any particular problem?”

Skye’s voice was wry. “Turns out the anti-establishment hacker is still a little anti-establishment.”

“I see. Regrettable, but you win some, you lose some. Get back to the Bus as soon as possible.” 

“On our way.”

Coulson closed the phone as he started up the ramp to the interior of the plane. He’d do some work before the others returned, identifying the license plates of the cars and motorcycles gathered at the McCall house.

He paused at the top of the ramp, when it occurred to him that he didn’t remember lowering the ramp. He turned around, puzzled, only to see — or thought he saw — a figure standing at the bottom. It was only a glimpse of what might have been a masked man, dressed in a heavy coat over a jaunty vest and carrying a cane. The briefness of seeing him and his mien were so alarming that Coulson pulled his gun and checked the rest of the plane. 

No one was there. Coulson hit the security alert on the Bus and then sprinted down the ramp. There was no one nearby; there was no place for anyone to hide nearby. If there had been someone at the foot of the ramp, they had vanished into thin air. He frowned, having trouble recalling the image of the person he had seen.

He went back and checked the security protocols. According to the digital records, no one had boarded the Bus since they had split up earlier in the day, but there was a yellow alert indicating a recent power surge through the systems. Surges could possibly be used to cover up an intrusion. He would have Fitz check it out.

Putting the strangeness aside, he typed in the license plates from the gathering outside the McCall House. Recognizable names spilled out over the screen. Scott McCall owned the dirt bike, which wasn’t surprising as this was his house. But the other names were enlightening as well: Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Aiden Steiner, Allison Argent, and Lydia Martin. All five of which had been tied to the unsolved murders which had plagued this town. 

Association was not guilt, however. Coulson rubbed his jaw in thought. The senior McCall wasn’t going to much help, and the junior McCall obviously had secrets he was intending to keep. 

One of those secrets might have led him to become involved with Centipede’s plans in Hong Kong.

Ward and Simmons pulled up outside according to the exterior cameras. Jemma seemed to be pouring over her table, while Ward looked decidedly thoughtful. 

“Tell me what you have.”

“Gerard Argent is more than just an elderly man in a rest home.” Ward leaned up against a wall of the lab. “He’s ruthless, and he has a grudge against the suspect.”

Jemma looked up at him in surprise. “You got all that from one interview?”

“You learn about people like him in the field. He was more interested in pointing us at McCall than about the possibility of finding a cure to his illness. By the way, sir, he accused McCall of poisoning him, which is the source of the 084.”

“Interesting.” Coulson looked back at his own information. “We’ll need to follow up on that, because it seems that Argent’s granddaughter still associates with McCall, at least enough to be at his house when I visited.”

“It wouldn’t be the first family to have internal problems of a lethal variety.” Ward pursed his lips, but only for a second, and then turned to Jemma. “Find anything interesting yet?”

“Mr. Argent claimed he was poisoned by _Sorbus Californica,_ the Californian Mountain Ash.” The biochemists forehead creased with perplexity. “Now, while its uncooked berries, stems and leaves contain parasorbic acid, it certainly wouldn’t produce the symptoms we’re seeing. The most he’d receive is nausea and indigestion.”

“So, Mr. Argent is mistaken or lying.”

Jemma looked up, puzzled. “I find that truly hard to believe, sir. If he was going to lie about being poisoned, he would have had plenty of time to discover something that I couldn’t disprove in fifteen minutes. And if he wanted to point us at our suspect, there were other things he could have said that would have been far more damning.”

Ward shook his head. “He’s not senile. Could have it been some sort of message?”

“Why not simply come out and tell us?”

“Jemma, put what you know about California Mountain Ash up on the screen.”

SHIELD information files were better than Wikipedia. Sometimes. It was a running joke throughout the Mission Prep division that they stole most of their mundane information from the website, choosing to spice it up with Agent-speak. 

“Another name for mountain ash is rowan.” Coulson observed. “That could be significant.” 

“Why?” Jemma turned from the screen.

“Rowan is connected with witchcraft, specifically white witchcraft. It was said to ward off evil.”

The scientist smiled, shyly. “I’ve heard myths about that, but I wasn’t giving it any credit.”

“Perhaps you should. In the field, I’ve taken to cross checking unusual events with hearth wisdom and the occult. Experience has proved a good teacher in that regard.” Coulson winked. “After all, I’ve met Loki. He demonstrated a lot of abilities that looked like magic.” 

“Fair enough,” Ward said. “So maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way. Maybe it’s not the mountain ash, maybe it’s something unique to that old man.”

“What?” Jemma’s eyes light up. “You’re brilliant, Ward!”

“I am?” The specialist turned to her. “Oh, yeah, right.”

“We’ve been looking at this with the idea that Centipede has been active in Beacon Hills. We’ve been looking for evidence to confirm it. I think we have evidence.” Jemma grew excited. “Let’s assume that there is some sort of Centipede program going on, then all the things that don’t make sense suddenly make a great deal more, including medical experimentation that could, possibly, cure pancreatic cancer.”

Coulson pursed his lips, bringing up the other screen. “But the deaths weren’t due to experimentation. Arson deaths, animal attacks, a serial killer, strange accidents.”

“Or possibly they were made to look like those. I need to get a sample of Gerard Argent’s blood.”

Ward took a wadded up tissue out of his pocket. “Like this?” 

“Then might work.” She paused. “When did you pick that up?”

“When he was focused on you.” 

“If Gerard Argent was healed of his cancer through some Centipede experiment, the parasorbic acid could be reacting in ways common medical practice wouldn’t even imagine.”

“Good job, Simmons. Follow that up. While Ward and I wait for the others come back, we’ll be working out why Scott McCall might want to poison an old man.”

**~*~**

Gregory Belial felt it the moment he stepped off his private plane. The ley lines running through the earth knotted below this town, a hidden source of power for those who knew how to tap it. It was like someone standing on the roof of a power plant and feeling the dynamos hum through their legs.

“Interesting.”

He put that revelation to the side. It might come in handy later, but his first task was to ascertain what had already happened with the SHIELD agents.

It didn’t take him long to locate SHIELD’s air transport. There was only one airport within a hundred miles which could handle a plane like that easily, even given its VTOL capabilities. The plane seemed deserted, but he decided not to bother trying to break in. The magic that he possessed was very finicky when it was applied to technology. Science and magic weren’t opposites, but mixing them was often like trying to run a motor built to use direct current with an alternating current. A sorcerer had to master both the spell they intended to cast and fully comprehend the technology targeted in order to create a sort of ad hoc adapter. 

He had heard of technosorcerers as well; they specialized in bridging that very gulf between science and magic. It appeared to be a valid and intriguing area of study, but to him it seemed that too much time would have to be spent reinventing the wheel. What few technosorcerers he had met were also very strange. 

In the end, the point was moot. Belial didn’t need to get into the vehicle; all he needed to know that SHIELD was here and had started its investigation. 

He had a simple plan; point the agents in directions where they would discover Fox’s connection to this city. Pohlman had been the only other Hydra asset who had ever been in Beacon Hills, and he had been here less than a week. The SHIELD agents would start drawing conclusions, and when Fox finally arrived, he would have to make a few crucial decisions. Stilinski could cover his tracks by eliminating those people who knew him, he could eliminate the SHIELD team, or he could simply do nothing and let the investigation continue.

None of those choices were good choices for Fox. All the psychological profiles of the human half of Fox indicated a fierce and possessive love for the people he had left behind. Those same profiles had tried to suggest that the inhuman half of Fox would see those same people as fodder, easily dispensed with if it threatened his existence. It could tear Fox apart, or at least cause a psychotic break. This would hamper his rise within Hydra’s ranks.

Killing the SHIELD team would undoubtedly draw the attention of Director Fury, who had gone to such great lengths to bring Coulson back from the dead. Fox would become a liability too close to the launch of Project Insight. The other leaders of Hydra would be displeased by that particular choice, and Fox’s influence would wane.

Doing nothing could avoid both extremes, but more likely it could make sure both of them happened. Either way, Fox wouldn’t be scheming for Belial’s position anymore. 

Belial didn’t hold Fox any ill will. If he was in the same position, he would have acted similarly. Belial simply wasn’t willing to give up what being the head of the DOA gave him in terms of resources and access, which meant that Fox’s popularity with the other leaders of Hydra had to be curtailed. If the situation deteriorated too much, Belial would personally step in to help his colleague out.

Fox would be coming soon, but even with his great abilities, he couldn’t get here faster than twenty-four hours. With a little focus on his part, the situation in Beacon Hills would be close to being out of control by then.

**~*~**

The rest of the pack had fled the moment Melissa raised her voice. Even now, standing in the living room of her house with both hands on her hips, few would dare cross her. “Scott McCall, I’m going to have to put my foot down. See?” She raised her left leg and put it down. “It has been put down. You’re going to go to Kansas.”

“Mom, I can’t.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking recently. I’ve been talking to the people, and I think I have to apologize to you.” She stood over her puzzled son seated on the good couch. “There was easy out for me, and I took advantage of that.”

Scott’s brow creased. “I’m not following.”

“It was easier for me to let you be a werewolf than to play the role that I’m supposed to be playing — a mother to a teenage son. I’ve accepted all these strange people in my house, which grown men looking to you for guidance. I’ve accepted the guns and the monsters and the staying out all night.”

“Mom.”

“But the time has come for me to put my foot down.”

“You already said that.”

“You’re an eighteen-year-old boy. You have a dream beyond all this horror and violence, and it’s my duty to push you in that direction. The assistant dean called me, Scott, because they couldn’t reach you.” 

“I don’t even remember applying,” Scott said reluctantly.

“See! _See!_ Can you even tell me which colleges you’ve expressed an interest in who have gotten back to you?”

Scott looked around the room, but there was no one else there. Where was his pack when he needed them? “Uhm.”

“Uhm? Is Uhm a college?”

“Mom. No. I don’t recall …”

“So, you haven’t actually thought that much about college at all. I thought you wanted to be a veterinarian.”

“I do!”

“That takes eight years of school, Scott. Eight years. Not a single one of which is going to happen by itself. You have to make it happen.”

“I know, I do—”

Melissa took a deep breath before sitting down next to Scott. “You never wanted to be what you are, yet you’ve accepted it. You never wanted to become a leader, but you did because it was the right thing to do. I know it might seem that going to school and getting your degree is selfish, but sometimes the real right thing to do is the right thing to do _for you._ You deserve more than to be an alpha; you also deserve to get at least part of the life you want.”

“But, Mom, I’ve done some things—”

She put a finger to his lips. “Stiles was not your fault. Everyone’s told you this, and I’ve told you this, and I will keep telling you this until the day it sinks in. Things are going to happen to people, that’s just how the world is, and it doesn’t any good to throw your life away because of it.”

“I’m not …” Scott took hold of her hand gently. “I mean, yes, I do blame myself for what happened to Stiles, but that’s not the reason I can’t go to Kansas this weekend. I may have gotten in trouble with some … federal agents.”

Melissa’s eyes bulged. “Federal agents.”

“Yeah, Dad and this agent of SHIELD …” Scott trailed off as he saw the look of concern transform into rage appear in Melissa’s eyes. She dug out her phone. “Uh. Mom.”

His mother didn’t answer him but instead hit a contact, who picked up almost immediately. “Hello. Get your ass to this house right now. We have to talk about your son.”

Scott grimaced. “Oh, boy.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the characters of Teen Wolf, Agents of Shield, the MCU, or Marvel Comics. This is produced for enjoyment only and an homage to these properties.

###### October 14, 2013 (Continued)

The house was dark and seemed to be empty, which suited Gregory Belial fine. He wasn’t above getting his hands dirty, but he never enjoyed field work. He had seen in the bushes by the front door stood the security company’s warning sign, which was meant to discourage thieves from choosing this home. Given that the house was tucked away in the south east corner of the Preserve, it was wise of the home owners to take this precaution.

It wouldn’t help them tonight.

The sorcerer pulled his generic rental car into the driveway. He had picked up the Ford Escort using one of the false identifications Hydra had created for operations just like this, so the car wouldn’t be able to be traced back to anyone. He knocked on the front door sharply and then pressed the doorbell for good measure. 

He studied the ominous forest that surrounding the yard as he waited for a response. With a gesture, he reached out and grasped the telluric currents, so much easier now that he was closer to this area’s primary focus. The power contained in them was significant, and they would make what he had to do in this October twilight easier. 

No one answered the door, so he kicked it in. As expected, the alarm went off, but that didn’t bother Belial; he was more relieved that there were no dogs. There was a cat, but it watched him with practiced disinterest. Ignoring it, he made straight for the master bathroom, guessing correctly where it was by the layout of the house. Rooting through the cabinets, he selected a hand mirror, a box of cotton swabs and an eyebrow pencil, before he went looking for the kitchen. 

Setting the mirror and the swabs to the side on the kitchen counter, he choose a sizable carving knife from its rack between the sink and the stove and began tracing symbols on its blade with the pencil. It wasn’t easy to shape the necessary runes on the blade with the waxy make-up, but he had had plenty of practice. Quietly, he chanted while drawing, keeping one ear open for the necessary arrival.

The blare of the police siren shattered the calm of the rapidly darkening evening. Blue and red lights flashed through the house, throwing colored shadows through the air.

“That was fast.” Belial cocked back his hand to throw the knife. 

“Beacon County Sheriff’s Department!” A deputy cried from the living room. “If there’s anyone here, come out with your hands up!” 

He hurled the knife towards the door into the living room, throwing it as hard as he could while he focused on the sound of the man’s voice. The angle would have been impossible, but the knife curled in mid-air, tracking its target’s location. There was a cry of surprise and then the sound of metal burying itself in flesh. Picking up the mirror and the swabs, Belial stuck his head around the corner to make sure that the deputy had been alone. 

Kneeling beside the body, he positioned it to make sure none of the blood would get on the uniform. Then he pulled the knife out so it ran freely. He dipped the swab in the cooling crimson pool that formed around the deputy’s face. Studying himself in the mirror, he painted symbols on his forehead and his cheeks, chanting as he applied the runes, and feeling the power flow through his own body.

When finished, he studied his new face in the mirror. It would last until dawn, but he still quickly dressed himself in the deputy’s clothes, gathered the deputy’s equipment, put his own clothes in his rental, and then drove the police cruiser back towards the town. It wasn’t hard to figure out the radio so he called in to report a false alarm.

The police station had been fully repaired from the damage that it had suffered a year ago. It would have be considering that the nogitsune had planted a bomb there, killing several officers. Belial could sense the aura around the place, the lingering stench of souls cut down in their prime. Such energy would wear at the people here, an exhausting burden. The city should have torn the place down and relocated the station elsewhere, but everything was science nowadays, and while science shared some of the same truths with magic – energy could neither be created nor destroyed – most people raised on science alone had little imagination when it came to conceiving what that could really mean.

Death had seeped into the walls and floors of this place. It would take decades for its influence to evaporate on its own, but that wasn’t Belial’s concern this night.

“Haigh!” 

The sorcerer startled until he remembered the name of the face he was wearing. It had been on the I.D. in his pocket. “Yes?”

An extraordinarily good-looking deputy was frowning at him from over by the dispatch. “Weren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

“I was. I mean, I am.”

The deputy, whose nametag read Parrish, gestured at him in frustration.

Belial did not gain any insight into his victim’s relationships with this spell, so he had to keep his act simple. “I need to talk to the Sheriff.” 

“Then go talk to him.” Parrish turned away, but out of the corner of the sorcerer’s eye, he saw other deputies watching the person they thought was Haigh. He flipped the deputy off, guessing it would seem more in character before on the door of the office.

Noah Stilinski looked up. “Come in.”

“You’ve got a moment?”

The sheriff gestured him in after instructing him to shut the door behind him. “I wish you and Parrish would settle this stupid rivalry.”

“Trust me, it’s completely settled on my end.” Belial shrugged with Haigh’s shoulders. “On patrol, I saw something strange. You got any calls from the airport?”

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head. Belial wondered if there was a particular reason Coulson’s squad hadn’t contacted the local police first, as it was standard procedure. 

“There’s a jet parked there. A SHIELD jet.” 

That got Noah Stilinski’s attention. “How did it land?” It was a serious question but it was also a stalling tactic. The sheriff must have known of the supernatural’s presence within his city, because SHIELD’s arrival was definitely not something someone who knew the truth would welcome.

“I’m not sure; it’s a pretty big plane.” This deputy wouldn’t know about the vehicles VTOL capabilities. Belial hesitated for effect. “That’s not the strangest part though.”

The sheriff grimaced. “Well, spit it out, Haigh!”

“I’m sorry … they were asking about your son.” 

While the sheriff didn’t leap out of his seat and drive to the airport right away, it was a close thing. Pretending disinterest — badly — he dismissed Belial-as-Haigh to go back on patrol with a thank you. The last thing that Belial saw was the sheriff dialing a number on his phone with a determined look on his face. 

Belial got back into the police cruiser and drove out of the parking lot. Everything was going to plan so far. All he needed was the cooperation of one member of Phil Coulson’s crew, and then Fox would have quite a mess when he arrived.

**~*~**

Isaac came out of Derek’s kitchen with an armload of cans. “Okay, I forgot who wanted what. Who wanted the blackberry soda?”

Derek raised a hand, which made everyone in the room looked at him. He raised both eyebrows in defiance and caught the soda out of mid-air.

They had gathered in Derek’s loft, given that agents from a federal law enforcement agency would possibly be watching the McCall house. They had all approached from different angles, making sure they weren’t followed and this building didn’t have Wi-Fi. They were as safe as they could be.

In addition to the pack, Chris Argent and Alan Deaton had arrived to offer their expertise on this problem. Scott would check his phone from time to time to get updates from his mother, who was presently kicking his father’s ass all over the living room, or so she said.

Isaac had finished distributing the drinks. The only trouble was when he threw a can of root beer as hard as he could at Ethan. Ethan caught it, but trouble was only avoided when Danny convinced his boyfriend to back off.

“So. Suggestions?” Scott opened up the meeting from where he stood in the middle of the room. “We can start with how much trouble I’m in.”

“Not much,” said Argent from his position sitting on the steps near the door at the exact same moment as Peter Hale, sitting on the stairs, said “None at all.”

The werewolf hunter and the werewolf glared at each other until Chris shrugged and let Peter continue.

“The truth is that they can’t _prove_ anything,” Peter began. “Yes, you called a phone number and asked about details of an SHIELD operation, but they have no idea how you got either the number or the details. They can talk all they want about charging you with espionage, but no court in the world would make it stick.”

“The worst — the absolute worst-case scenario — is that they might try to disappear you to an SHIELD facility and hold you until you give up how you got it,” Argent suggested. 

“You mean something like a black site,” Cora demanded. She, it turned out, had a taste for left-wing political activism. The older Argent nodded.

“Well, we shouldn’t let that happen,” Malia said, sitting on the floor by the bed where Cora was reclining. 

“I don’t think anyone here wants that to happen,” Allison said, diplomatically. “But how do we stop it?”

“Kick their asses if they try it?” Aiden suggested from where he sat on the couch.

Scott shook his head. “I won’t hurt them. They don’t deserve it. Agent Coulson kept secrets, but he wasn’t being deceptive. I also won’t risk exposing the supernatural to SHIELD.”

“Most likely, they already have some idea,” Deaton had claimed one of the folding wooden chairs that Derek had pulled out from a closet Scott hadn’t even known existed. “About the supernatural that is. The revelation of SHIELD was a shock to everyone, but it also answered some very serious questions that I and my colleagues have been pondering for a long time about artifacts being claimed by governments and then being mysteriously lost.”

“Still, it wouldn’t be smart to just assume they know,” Argent countered. “We—”

“When you say _we_ , you mean everyone but you and your daughter,” snapped Cora. 

“I mean all of us.” Argent’s reply was cool and calm. “We’re all at risk. SHIELD would undoubtedly look at my families activities as a threat to national security.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Isaac griped. “Why can’t we just give them Valack, let them deal with him?”

“Valack has no reason not to give them all of our names, especially if he possesses clairvoyance, retrocognition, and precognition,” Lydia said crossly. Everyone turned to her at her definition. “I read. In this case, I’ve been reading everything that I could get my hands on by Gabriel Valack. He was once well-regarded until he began to delve into what others dismissed as pseudo-science.”

“I’m afraid that Lydia is most likely right.” Deaton apologized. “Gabriel Valack is a very disturbed individual with few ethics. Considering his past actions, I wouldn’t put it past him to try to manipulate us and SHIELD to achieve his end.”

Derek crossed his arms, his brows coming together with dark memories. “Destroying these Dread Doctors.” 

“And that’s another reason I don’t want to give him up. Well, another two reasons. First, from what I’ve learned from Peter and from Theo, these Dread Doctors should be stopped anyway. What they’ve done is terrible and … well, even Theo didn’t know why they had done it.”

“And the second?” Ethan spoke up.

“He’s my only lead to Stiles’s location.”

A general susurrus of discontent filtered around the room. Scott scowled. “Look, I’m your alpha, and I’m taking that seriously, but you don’t own every part of me. One of those parts is Stiles. It’s always going to be Stiles. I’m going to keep looking for him, and now I have a lead.”

“A lead that brought this problem here to us,” Danny spoke up. “I’m not trying to undermine you or say you have to stop, but the number of dangers your pack are facing is increasing and they’re all because of your … obsession with finding him.” 

“The pack is the reason that my obsession, as you put it, hasn’t hurt me anymore than it should have. It was Allison and Isaac who noticed I was pulling away, Derek who stopped me from driving people too hard, Peter who gave me the information I needed about the Doctors.” All the Hales in the room stirred at the mention. “I didn’t take only my own counsel, I relied on you, and I’m going to keep doing that.”

“But above all that,” Scott said firmly, “Stiles is part of this pack. Yes, he’s my oldest friend, but he’s also known to every one of you. He’s fought with us. He’s bled with us. He’s now in trouble and he had been for a long time. I will never give up on any member of my pack — not a single one of you.” There was a cough. “Even you, Peter. So I’m not giving up on him. The Doctors are too dangerous to use; Valack is in custody.”

“You’re overlooking someone, Scott,” Allison piped up. 

“Huh?”

“SHIELD. You insisted Valack prove that he could tell you about Stiles, but you’re so used to thinking of the supernatural world as separate from the mundane world, that you forget that SHIELD deals with alien invasions and Norse demigods. Especially after this, the nogitsune is going to be on SHIELD’s radar. They can help you find them.” 

Scott blinked at his ex-girlfriend. He looked at the others who considered Allison’s words and nodded.

“It’s an alternative,” Chris added. “Especially since they’ve already been close to us before.”

“How do you mean?” Derek asked in a serious voice.

“Agents from SHIELD paid a visit to my father during the summer of 2012. They tend to investigate unexplainable events. The people I’ve paid to watch him told me two agents paid another visit today. I’m going to visit him tonight and find out what they wanted to talk about.”

Scott grimaced, but he didn’t say he was sorry. 

“I’ll go with you.” Allison volunteered. “He always seems more willing to talk to me.” Isaac frowned where she couldn’t see him.

Scott took in the entire pack. “Okay. Agent Coulson is probably going to want to meet with me tomorrow. I have to admit — part of me wants to stick with Valack because he’s easier to control, being locked in Eichen House. So I’m going to put it to a vote.”

They talked about it for a while, and then they voted. While people were leery of Scott becoming more involved with SHIELD, they weren’t interested in being Valack’s instruments of revenge against the Doctors, either.

**~*~**

Phil Coulson made sure the Sheriff of Beacon County was comfortable as they sat down in his private office on the Bus. He used the couch instead of the desk because he didn’t want to come across to local law enforcement as if he saw himself as superior to them. Coulson and SHIELD had influence and the authority over certain matters but there were still jurisdictional lines, and he had always found that honey worked a lot better than vinegar. It was going to be even more important in this case.

According to his files, Noah Stilinski was an army veteran, having served as a stateside MP during the Gulf War. After the war, he had gotten married to a Claudia Gajos and then had a son, Mieczyslaw. His wife had died in 2005 while his son had been abducted in 2012. As sheriff, he had presided over a city that had seen a ridiculous spike in the number of murders for its size over the last decade. Coulson had no desire to add anything to this man’s already significant burdens. 

“I’m sure you’re interested to know why we came here, sheriff.”

“I’ve actually got an idea about that. Right now, I’m more interested in why you came here and didn’t inform the local authorities.”

“Which would be you.”

“Which would be me.”

“We did consult with the Federal Bureau of Investigation first on the matter, considering the suspect’s relationship with an agent of the Bureau. It isn’t yet a criminal investigation, so we saw no reason to alert you.”

“You landed a jet airplane at the local grass-strip airport.”

Coulson shrugged with a small smile. “It saved time.”

Noah grimaced in derision. “What could save me some time right now is if you tell me why you’re here.”

Very carefully, Coulson outlined what the sheriff could be told about their investigation, while leaving out SHIELD sensitive operations. He chose not to hide that he already knew that the sheriff was familiar with Scott McCall. The sheriff tried to play it cool, but as Coulson explained the nature of the incident and its relation to the situation in Hong Kong, the sheriff’s face grew grimmer and grimmer.

“I was afraid something like this was going to happen.”

“You were?”

“Scott McCall was my son’s best friend. He blames himself for Stiles’ abduction when there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. You see, he was opposed to Stiles committing himself to Eichen House. I would have hoped he would have moved on from that guilt by now, but it’s obvious he hasn’t.”

“Guilt can be a powerful thing.” Coulson studied the man’s face. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you seem to have adjusted well.”

“Have I? I’m not eighteen anymore. I’ve been a law enforcement officer for nineteen years. My son was abducted nearly a year ago. Contrary to what you see on television, most abductions that aren’t resolved in the first 48 hours only end when you find the body.”

Coulson nodded. It was an unfortunate fact.

“But adjusted? Let me tell you, Agent, that I am nowhere near adjusted. This is my son and it tears me apart, but I’ve gotten very good at separating what I do during work from what I do during the long hours I spend at home alone. I’m a professional.”

“I didn’t mean …”

The sheriff didn’t let him off the hook. “Let’s get back to the situation at hand. I know Scott. He’s a very good kid, especially when you consider everything that’s happened to him.” 

“Well, he’s gotten himself into a bit of trouble. I’m a professional as well, and I need to know how he learned of that classified information.”

“I understand, though I’m hoping we can work this out without any formal proceedings. I know that Scott wouldn’t have violated any laws on purpose, even if it was to find my son. That’s not who he is.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

The sheriff thought about it. “Would he pursue any lead, no matter how dangerous to find his best friend? Yes. But he would never endanger others, and the reason that this information is classified is because it would endanger others. Right?”

“I’m not at liberty—”

“Right?”

“Yes. This sensitive information does pertain to innocent lives.” 

“Then you and I tomorrow will go visit Scott and I’ll get him to tell you what you need to know. That sound like a good plan?”

“Yes, Sheriff.” Despite Noah Stilinski’s attempt to bulldoze him, Coulson liked the man. He also expected that there would be another shoe to drop. 

“Now, what aren’t you telling me about my son?”

“I had my team searching your city today, and we came across some very strange things.”

“Beacon Hills has its secrets, like every other town in the city. But are those secrets worth investigating?”

“SHIELD was formed to protect people from events which surpass the capabilities of local law enforcement. Last year you had not one but four serial killers, three of which went unsolved, and all of them were outside the bounds of normal behavior, including a killer employing an unidentified animal and another killer employing ancient religious practices.”

Noah threw up his hands sarcastically. “That was last year. This year, we’ve had nothing so far.”

“There was no arrest made in any of those killing sprees, Sheriff Stilinski.”

“Yes.” The man leaned back. “But they ended.”

“And that’s good enough for you?”

“Tell me, Agent Coulson, in which federal facility is Loki Laufeyson residing?” 

They stared at each other, a silent understanding going between them. 

“I’ll admit, agent, there are details to last year’s cases that are pretty hard to believe, but no harder than watching aliens invade New York City on my television. SHIELD isn’t the only protectors out there who’ve kept a low profile for important reasons.”

Coulson leaned back and considered what he just said. “Is Scott McCall part of these protectors?”

Noah leaned forward. “ _Maybe._ ”

“I see. Perhaps I can persuade you a different way. We flew here to Beacon Hills from Hong Kong. In Hong Kong, we investigated a secret, illegal laboratory run by an organization known only as Centipede.”

The sheriff scratched his nose but didn’t respond.

“This organization is attempting to create super soldiers for a purpose we have yet to discover.”

“Super soldiers, like Captain America?”

“Exactly. But unlike Project Rebirth, their actions demonstrate no regard for the lives of the people they use. In Hong Kong, we attempted to rescue an individual who exhibited spontaneously occurring enhanced powers. They experimented on him, and it resulted in his death.”

Noah’s face remained steady. 

“Mr. McCall’s phone call revealed that he had access to information he could not possibly have. We came here and found several biomedical oddities as well as evidence of possible enhancement. It was reported to me that your son could fall into that category as an electro-kinetic.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Noah said wryly. “You think that these Centipede people might be behind Stiles’ abduction.”

“Yes.”

“If you think that there’s a good chance of it, you’ll have more than my full cooperation, and you’ll probably have Scott’s cooperation as well, if you tell him you can help him find Stiles.”

“I plan to, but at the end of the day, I need to know the truth.”

“It’s not my truth to share — I know he’s my son, but I can’t risk other people’s secrets.” The sheriff looked at his hands. “You’re going to meet with Scott tomorrow, right?”

“Yes.”

“Let me talk to him tonight. He’s probably going over it with his people already, but—”

There was a chime, and Coulson hit the intercom. “Yes?”

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, I know you’re busy, but we were going to order something for dinner.” 

Coulson smiled it off as if it were embarrassing, but this was a prearranged interruption. It was the team’s way of checking if he needed any back up information or a way to handle guests. “Sorry about this. Anything will do, Fitz.”

“We exhausted our stores over the Pacific. I drew the short straw and I’m going to run into town for pizza.”

Sheriff Stilinski interrupted. “We’re pretty much done here, until tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll give your man the name of the best pizza place in the city. They don’t deliver this far out, but he can follow me back into town.”

“That’s kind of you, sheriff. Did you hear that Fitz?”

“Yes, sir.”

The sheriff stood up. “It’s no trouble at all, Agent Coulson. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”

Coulson stood up with him. “Yes, we are. I hope this works out.” He extended his hand. The sheriff shook it. 

“I hope it does, too.”

**~*~**

At that moment, Stiles was driving at a comfortable ninety when he passed near the outskirts of Julesburg, Colorado. It marked the end of the first leg of the long journey home. The radio in the Mustang was defiantly blaring the Offspring — or some band like it, he wasn’t sure — as the concrete flowed under his tires like water. He still had thirteen hours until he reached Beacon Hills at this speed, meaning he’ll arrive there mid-morning.

Stiles looked into the mirror only to see a speck of blood on his cheek, which he wiped away. The Nebraskan state trooper had only been doing his job when he tried to pull him over, but it was a mostly deserted stretch of I-80 a little after sundown. Stiles couldn’t afford to get bogged down with the law, being officially an abducted mental patient and driving a stolen car. Foxfire had fried every camera and the laptop that the trooper had been using to get the license plate numbers. 

The people he cared about were in danger from Belial’s meddling. Every other consideration would take a back seat for the duration.

**~*~**

Scott rubbed at his temples. Apparently there was a limit to the size of a stress headache that werewolf healing, even alpha healing, could handle. They had the beginnings of a plan, but most of the time everyone seemed to be intent at picking apart everyone else’s plans.

Allison, Isaak, and Deaton – though the veterinarian had reservations – supported throwing Valack under the bus in order to get help from SHIELD and Agent Coulson in finding Stiles. They argued that not only did the organization have far greater resources than a deranged psychologist with a third eye, but also Valack had already proven himself a dangerous criminal. They worked on concocting a story that would keep the secrets of the supernatural from getting in the way.

That’s why Chris, Cora, Danny, and Lydia had made an unlikely alliance. They weren’t willing to trust Valack outside of his own jail cell, but neither were they willing to see SHIELD possibly discover that werewolves existed. The agency could be benevolent, or they could build relocation camps. Truth to be told, it was something of which Scott himself was afraid.

Peter, Derek, and the twins default to working for Valack. He was under control, and the pack would make it clear that the doctor would remain safely in custody in Eichen House no matter what happened. It would mean fighting the Doctors, but as Peter pointed out, their gambit with Theo meant the Doctors were already here.

Malia had dozed off. Scott envied her.

**~*~**

The sheriff drove down the rural road that formed a direct line between the airport and the town. In his rear view mirror, the SUV from the plane — that must be nice, being able to bring your own vehicle alone with you everywhere you go — followed in the darkness. Driving it was this nice young man named Leo Fitz. He was supposedly a technical genius who worked in the agency’s science investigation division.

It hurt Noah to look at him. This was the person he had hoped that Stiles would one day turn into — a bright young man who used his skills to help other. He could have easily son Stiles become an expert in forensics or a real police detective, using that sharp brain and sharper tongue to corral those who would hurt others. Noah had never said any of that to Stiles. He wouldn’t ever push Stiles into something he didn’t want to be.

And then came the fox. 

In his darkest moment, Noah sometimes wished it had actually been frontotemporal dementia. As terrible as it had been for Claudia, it had had an end. He had badgered Deaton without letting any of the others know for all the druid-slash-veterinarian-slash-whatever the hell he was could find out about nogitsune possession. Apparently, it was permanent; Stiles could be that thing’s prisoner for the rest of his life.

He hoped that tomorrow they could make the right decision.

His eye was caught by blue and red lights up ahead. One of his deputy’s cruisers was parked perpendicular to the road, blocking traffic as if it were a roadblock, but the driver’s side door had been left wide open. That was definitely not procedure. He pulled over to the side of the road; the agent behind him did the same.

Noah pulled his gun and got out of the car. He heard Fitz get out of the SUV. “Wait here.”

“I’m a federal agent, sheriff. Let me back you up.”

Fitz didn’t seem that much of a field agent, but he had a weapon and a badge, so Noah wasn’t going to argue. He approached the vehicle carefully and noted the patrol car number. “Haigh?” He reached for his radio. “Dispatch, did Haigh say he was in distress?”

The dispatcher said that as far as they knew, the deputy was still on patrol. 

They reached the cruiser. There was no sign of blood. No sign of violence. And no sign of Haigh. 

Fitz peered at the vehicle. “It looked like he parked this way on purpose. There are no skid marks that I can see? Why would he park like this?”

“I don’t know.” Noah cautioned.

“I parked that way because I wanted a hostage,” Haigh said, appearing behind both of them. “To give my plan added _spunk_ , and look, two for the price of one.”

Both of them turned to face the deputy, only to receive a cloud of strange dust in their faces. The last thing Noah remembered was Haigh laughing, but it didn’t sound like Haigh at all.

**~*~**

Alarms rang through the Operating Theater. Even if they hadn’t been doing so, the random eruptions of chemical steam and the showers of sparks from equipment designed to handle nearly imaginable amounts of power would have revealed that something war wrong. The three Doctors moved through the laboratory as quickly as they were able, triggering emergency buffers and seeking to tamp down the surges that threatened to undo years of work.

The Surgeon stood near the vat containing Der Soldat. The Nazi lowenmensch was the most valuable specimen they had and the key to their continued existence. As long as Douglas remained viable, any setback could be overcome. He felt the queries from the Pathologist and the Geneticist, who were busy with their own attempts to preserve the treasures of this particular amphitheater. More often than not, the trio communicated empathically through electro-magnetic emissions rather than pushing words through their ancient, dusty throats.

“The Nemeton has been activated.” 

The Pathologist was always the most sensitive to the telluric currents, being the youngest of the three. “Destabilized.”

The Geneticist stopped what she was doing and approached the surgeon. “Not accidental.”

The three of them were in agreement. They continued to secure the laboratory; soon, they would have to split off and visit the two other Operating Theaters they had set up in Beacon Hills in order to secure them as well. 

The Geneticist was the most practical of the trio; she lacked the Surgeon’s flights of fancy. “Our time is limited.” 

“Acknowledged.” Marcel didn’t like to think about that. 

“The window closes.”

“Acknowledged.” No one but the other two doctors would have been able to detect the spite in mid-band electro-magnetism that meant the Surgeon was furious. 

“The obstacle has not been removed.”

The Pathologist secured the last capacitor. “Theo Raeken has failed.”

His cane sat on the worktable near him. The Surgeon went over and picked it up. “Most likely. Multiple obstacles now present.”

“The McCall Pack.” The Pathologist had always proposed an all-out assault rather than a decapitation attack. He was by nature the least subtle of them, preferring the surety of overwhelming force.

“Valack.” The Geneticist allowed a faint echo of regret into her aura. She had benefited the most from their interaction and had argued against termination of the disgraced academic. 

“SHIELD.” It was the first time that they had spoken of this. Their agendas had always been constructed with remaining invisible to the semi-mundane authorities. They didn’t know if the agency knew of their existence, but their mobile headquarters was parked in Beacon County and that was problematic in itself.

“Unknown party.” The Surgeon was sure of it now. The other two Doctors turned their head slowly to face him, demanding an explanation. 

“Only two individuals could initiate current Nemeton flux event: Deaton and Morrell. Neither have motivation. Thus, indication of third, unknown party.” 

“Darach?” asked the Pathologist.

“Unknown.”

“Our time is _limited,_ ” insisted the Geneticist. 

Marcel slammed the tip of the cane into the ground that the concrete cracked. “We must act.” His anger while constrained was not abated. They had to act, but their enemies had multiplied. He had to think of a way to get the situation under control so they could initiate their experiments. Tracy Stewart would soon be ready for her run. 

“Priority?” The Pathologist consistently defaulted to the Surgeon’s leadership. 

The Surgeon gripped the head of the cane so tightly the leather in his gloves creaked. “SHIELD.”

The Pathologist turned away to see to another theater while stating his agreement. “SHIELD.”

The Geneticist turned the other way to the last theater, similarly. “SHIELD.”

Their words echoed throughout the gloomy laboratory.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want readers to know I really tried to get Stiles to Beacon Hills in this chapter, but it was getting so long that I felt that I had to wait. He's coming! I may have made the prison a bit too far away.

###### October 14, 2013 (Continued)

It took the team thirty-four minutes to realize that Fitz had been abducted.

Through sheer luck, it was Skye who noticed something first. She had been sitting at her computer in the laboratory, combing through the archive of the Beacon Hills High School announcements and meticulously linking them to police reports.

“Man, that library’s seen some craziness.” She tagged particular pages on instinct when her stomach rumbled. “What’s taking Fitz so long to get pizza?”

Simmons didn’t look up from the display on which she was studying all known information on _Sorbus californica._ She glanced at the clock at the corner of the screen. “It’s only been a half hour. They probably haven’t finished cooking it yet.”

“I wonder if it’s too late to ask for some bread sticks.”

Simmons sighed. Finally, the other woman turned away from the monitor, put both hands on her hips, and studied Skye with disapproval. “Mmm,” she finally said, nodding her head decisively. “Bread sticks. You should call him.”

Hopping up out of her chair, Skye crossed the room to use the Bus’s outside line instead of using her own cell phone. It wasn’t technically proper procedure to use official SHIELD communication equipment for personal calls, but Skye could argue, if caught, that this was not a personal call. He was on a mission for the whole team — saving them from hunger.

The call went to voice mail.

Skye looked at the phone and tongued her cheek. There was no way that Fitz could know that the phone call was her requesting extra food, and he would never let a call from the Bus itself go to voice mail, not even if he was off duty. Not one of them would.

Hanging up the phone, she alerted Coulson in his office to her concerns. Operational safety had been drilled into her during her brief training with Ward.

Ten minutes later, the team spread out at the site five miles down the road from the airport. Three empty vehicles occupied the shoulder of the rural pike. Their headlights were still on and the flashers of the police cruisers threw weird shadows across the ground.

“It has to be a professional abduction,” May said, standing up, from where she was studying the ground where she found Fitz’s side arm. “Nicely done, too.”

Ward pointed at the first deputy’s car as he walked them through the scenario. “This cruiser parked first across the road in order to make the sheriff and Fitz stop. They get out of their vehicles, weapons drawn.” The police cruiser’s flashers highlighting his face threw the operative’s detachment into sharp relief. “They’re attacked about here, quickly and efficiently. Whoever did it is careful to leave their guns, including Fitz’s prototype weapon.”

“No sign of blood,” Simmons said, maintaining a professional demeanor, after she had finished searching the ground with a UV light and Luminol. “We can assume that they’re not badly hurt.”

“We can assume nothing,” Coulson said, anger creeping into his voice. “For this to work, the assailants had to know that the sheriff had come to talk with us in order to know what road he would take back. This may not be the most traveled road in Beacon County, but it’s not a backwater dirt path. We need to find both of them and quickly.”

Skye poked her head out from the SUV where she had been looking for clues. “Boss, Fitz’s phone is gone. If he still has it …”

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Ward and I will go to the police department, tell them what happened, and then mobilize the deputies. May, take Simmons and Skye back to the Bus and get a location for Fitz’s cellphone.”

May immediately went to the SUV that Fitz was driving. Skye watched her. “Isn’t that a crime scene?”

“Yes,” Coulson admitted. “But it’s our crime scene. We’re no longer guests here. This is our case.”

**~*~**

It took twenty minutes for Coulson and Ward to reach the sheriff’s station from the abduction site. They were met at the front desk by Jordan Parrish, Stilinski’s senior deputy and right-hand man, even though he looked like he could be a sophomore in college. They summarized what they knew.

“I’ll put out an APB right away on the sheriff, your man, and Deputy Haigh.” Parrish recognized the second cruiser’s license plate number.

“You do that.” Coulson’s tone was clipped and aggressive. “Right now, I need to know everything about the abduction of Stiles Stilinski, and that includes everything that the sheriff may not have told me.”

Parrish unconsciously slipped into attention, echoes of military training. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

Coulson considered him. “Deputy Parrish, I find it hard to believe that you’re unaware of certain peculiarities about this case.”

“I am aware, but I can’t possibly know what the sheriff might have told you about it or what he would want you to know. He handled the investigation and the evidence personally. It’s unorthodox, but everyone was in the middle of his impeachment, so things were … unorthodox around here.”

“He conducted an entire investigation himself? I don’t find that plausible, deputy, not with the FBI looking over his shoulder.”

“The FBI was more interested in getting him fired.” The deputy worked his jaw in irritation. “The sheriff handled all the paperwork and kept any of his theories about the crime to himself.”

“Would his case notes be in his office?” Coulson jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the sheriff’s personal office.

“I believe so.”

Without another word, Coulson pivoted towards the door. With an exclamation of dismay, Parrish tried to intercept only for Ward to stop him with a hand on the shoulder.

“Let go. He can’t go in there.”

Ward nodded. “Oh, I think he can, since this is now a SHIELD investigation.”

“Jurisdiction exists, even for the feds.”

“You’ll find that SHIELD investigations are treated differently. Relax, deputy, we’re not the enemy here.”

Inside the office, Coulson moved quickly to avoid any interference, even though he was as confident as Ward in his right to be there. His search began by systematically opening every filing cabinet drawer. All of them unlocked, so he turned to desk; he had only talked to Sheriff Stilinski for a half hour, but there would be no way that he’d keep important files where anyone could get at them. His eye caught on the moon-phase chart hanging on the wall behind the desk. Coulson wondered why a sheriff would have something like that in the middle of his crime board. Putting the strangeness of it to the side, he sat down in the Sheriff’s chair, making himself comfortable.

“If I possessed sensitive information about my son’s kidnapping, where would I keep it?” The sheriff was right handed, so Coulson turned to look at the lower left-hand drawer. As suspected, it was locked. People kept things that were important yet painful to remember nearby, but they’d subconsciously put those things where they would be less apt to stumble across. A right-handed person would looked to the right.

Coulson dug into his pocket for his electric lock pick, pressing the end to the keyhole in the drawer. While he had been trained to use manual picks, this one was quicker. He had no trouble getting the drawer open.

**~*~**

It took forty-five minutes to find Fitz’s cell phone. Part of the delay was because of a strange electro-magnetic interference that was plaguing not only the Bus’s systems but also, seemingly, satellite imagery. The other part of the delay was that Simmons and Skye seemed unnecessarily intimidated by May’s presence.

Melinda May was a patient person. She could wait — she had waited on stakeouts — for hours without taking any impulsive action. She had trained some of the best field agents in SHIELD and some of the worst. Her problem existed because she had allowed her reputation as “The Cavalry” to grow unchecked and because she had allowed her detachment from her co-workers to become a habit. People couldn’t tell the difference in her demeanor between ‘take your time and do it right’ and ‘if it’s not done in thirty seconds, I’m kicking your ass.’

“This would be easier if Fitz were here!” Jenna Simmons explained from the main console in the command center. “He’s could understand where all this electromagnetic interference is coming from.”

“I didn’t say anything,” May replied, annoyed. She wasn’t pushing.

“We’re doing the best we can!” Skye looked ready to punch the machine. “Just a few more moments.”

_“I didn’t say anything.”_ May repeated with exasperation.

Both of them redoubled their efforts in the face of May’s patience. She crossed her arms and blew a stray hair out of her face.

“Got it!” Skye cried. “I have a lock. I had to filter this thing like a dozen times.”

Simmons peered at the location. “That’s odd. According to this, it’s in an abandoned lot, but it’s underground”

Melinda was about to pick up the phone and call Coulson when she felt a chill run down her spine. “Where?” She turned to the screen where Simmons was studying it.

The map projection didn’t have a name for the underground location, but it wouldn’t. The name of this location was classified, even to most SHIELD agents.

“Oak Creek,” she breathed. “We’re going now. Skye break out sidearms for you and Simmons and pick up the assault rifle for me. Simmons, bring your medical kit.” She then finished dialing the senior agent.

As the two others scrambled to get her order, she got into the driver’s seat of the SUV. “Fitz’s phone is at Oak Creek; we’re on our way.”

The line is filled with static. “I can’t wait until tomorrow to confront McCall. Ward and I are on our way to his house. If you have the slightest hunch that Oak Creek’s a trap, you retreat and call me.”

“Communications are compromised; we may not be able to reach you.”

“Don’t let yourself be isolated. Something is going on here, May, and I’m not losing another person because no one wants to talk.”

May hung up. “Come on, ladies. We’re burning night.”

**~*~**

It had taken five hours for everyone at the loft to be satisfied with their preparations for the next day. Afterward, the alpha had dragged himself home and immediately taken a hot shower.

Scott rubbed at his head with a towel. His hair was getting long again, long enough that he would have to wait for it to dry before he went to bed. He had usually wore his hair shorter than he had when he was first bit, not because he preferred it that way, but because there was something about the sound of a blow dryer that drove him crazy. He had never, ever told Stiles this, because the dog jokes would have increased exponentially in their duration and intensity.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, he made a solemn promise. “I will tell him the first time I see after he’s safe.”

He pulled on one of his favorite shirts and a pair of basketball shorts before turning down the bed. He wasn’t physically tired — it took a truly incredible amount of physical activity to wear him down now — but he was mentally and emotionally exhausted. He had thought that when they had settled on a plan his mind would calm down, but he still felt anxious and fidgety. He needed a good night’s sleep so he would be able to face both his father and SHIELD the next afternoon.

The hot shower had done nothing to calm him. A quarter of an hour after turning out the lights, he was still studying the cracks in the ceiling in frustration when the doorbell rang. On some level relieved, he sat up and sharpened his ears. As expected, there were no other heartbeats in the house; his mom had taken the night shift at work while Isaac still hadn’t returned from dropping off Allison at home.

As he came down the stairs, the doorbell rang once again, impatiently. “Coming!” He called out to his visitors. He wasn’t worried, even though this was Beacon Hills. Enemy werewolves and renegade hunters didn’t stop to think about ringing doorbells. In any event, as he reached the foyer, he recognized the Agent Coulson’s from this afternoon. He figured that something important must have happened in the meantime.

Scott opened the front door to find a Smith & Wesson M&P pointed in his face. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Back up and get down on your knees.” Scott had never seen the man holding the gun before, but in his other hand, he wielded a SHIELD badge. “Do it right now.”

A stoic Coulson stood a few steps behind the man, still on the front stoop. “I’d do as Agent Ward says, son.”

The alpha took a few steps back, but he didn’t kneel. His earlier disquiet shifted into aggrieved irritation. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“You don’t get to ask questions right now.” Ward kept the gun trained on Scott, even as he dropped the badge and brought both hands to the gun. “You get to do as you’re told. On the ground.”

Scott didn’t know what was going on. He certainly wasn’t aware of anything big happening since he had spoken to Coulson in the afternoon. That something must have happened was obvious, and it pissed him off to think that whatever happened had made five hours of arguing with the pack — and all that entailed, from Lydia’s dry wit to the twins’ level of comfort with violence to Peter’s endless barbs — a waste of time. Under his skin, he could feel the anger building. After so much work, he was suddenly close to losing the only real lead he had had to Stiles in almost a year.

Everyone has a line that they drew for themselves past which they would not be pushed. Scott’s line was much harder to reach than Derek’s, yet he still had one. One of the easiest ways to do it, Scott had found, was to try to order him around with random applications of brute force.

“You know?” The teenager said as lightly as he could manage. “I don’t think I will. You want to talk, we can talk.”

Neither SHIELD agent dropped their guard, they weren’t expecting that reaction. Few people, Scott guessed, was so blasé’ about a pistol in his face. He watched Agent Ward shift position slightly, trying to reclaim an advantage he had.

“You’re not in charge.”

Werewolves possessed far better senses than humans did. If Ward fired off a shot the way he was holding the gun now, it wouldn’t hit Scott in the head or the neck, so it wouldn’t be instantly fatal. Scott could hear their steady heart rates; the agents still believed they had the upper hand. Similarly, werewolves were far stronger than human beings; Scott had no doubt he could take both of them in a close quarters fight. Finally, werewolves had quicker reflexes than human beings, even trained agents. Scott wasn’t a simple werewolf, either; he was an alpha with a large and powerful pack. When he chose to move at his full speed, humans had always seemed to him to be reacting in slow motion.

So he had all the time in the world to grab Ward’s gun with one hand and force it upwards; with his other hand, Scott pushed the man against the hallway wall, pinning Ward there. He was very careful; Agent Ward would only have a bruise at the most, but he wasn’t going to be moving until Scott let him. He had also avoided any of his mother’s pictures on purpose.

Scott pulse hadn’t even quickened, yet the release of aggression hadn’t brought him any relief from the irritating knot of pain forming behind his eyes. “Are you _sure_ about that?”

Coulson hadn’t had his weapon drawn when Scott had opened the door, but it was drawn now. “Let him go.”

“I thought we were meeting tomorrow. That’s what you said.” Scott gritted out; he tried to sound casual but failed. Ward tried to shift his position slightly but Scott simply pressed harder, making it a little difficult for the man to breathe. “What’s with the Gestapo tactics?”

“Things changed. Let him go, or I’ll have to make you let him go.” Coulson cocked his gun, slowly and visibly, trying to intimidate him.

“Not with a pistol, you won’t.”

The retort of the pistol filled the house, and the neighbors were no doubt calling the police. Scott glanced down at the meat of his thigh where the bullet had struck him; he cocked his head to the side. “Don’t do that again.” He was so tired of people using violence to try to force him to obey — so very tired. If that’s how they wanted to play it, then that’s how they would play it. He let his claws grow from his fingers, his fangs drop from his mouth, and his eyes glowed baleful scarlet.

To his credit, Coulson recalculated quickly. “Okay.” With a show, Coulson holstered his pistol, probably recognizing that his lack of firepower was a problem. “That’s interesting. Even more interesting than what I found in the sheriff’s filing cabinet.”

“What were you doing in Sheriff’s Stilinski’s files?” Scott demanded around his fangs. He knew of the drawer in the office desk. He glanced at Ward. “If I let you go, you going to put that gun away?”

Ward, similarly, was completely cool. “Well, _obviously._ ”

Scott stepped away. “I don’t appreciate getting guns shoved in my face.”

Ward stepped back and clear. He did put the gun away.

“Crises require decisive response.” Coulson replied coolly. “One of my people has been taken, along with your county sheriff. I need answers, and I need them right now. I don’t have time to play games with you.”

“The sheriff’s been taken?” Scott felt the ground shift under his feet. “But … by whom? Why?”

“No idea.” Coulson snapped. “As I said, I need answers and so far only you and Gerard Argent seem to have any.”

Scott felt the ground shift. “Oh, fuck. You’ve been talking to Gerard. Okay.” He rubbed at his hair, leaving it a mess. “What do you need?”

Ward glanced between them. “Let’s start off with … what are you?”

“Uh.” Scott thought it must have been obvious, but he had been exposed to the supernatural for so long, he must have gotten used to it. “I’m a werewolf, dude.”

Ward turned to Coulson, who nodded calmly in response. At Ward’s incredulous reaction, the task force leader shrugged. “Once you see Banner change into the Hulk, things like this stop freaking you out as much. Scott, this has something to do with your friend’s kidnapping and Project Centipede. It can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Scott could apply part of the plan now. “We don’t know who kidnapped Stiles, but we do know why he was kidnapped. He’s very powerful.”

Coulson nodded. “We figured that out. He was behind the black out on October 30th of last year.”

“Not … exactly. It’s a complicated story and reveals a lot of secrets people like me don’t want anyone like you to know about.” Scott grimaced. “The people who took him might have kept an eye on us. They might want to make sure you don’t find out the truth.”

Ward rolled his eyes. “No shit.”

“I can help you find your agent and the sheriff, but you have to let me make a phone call and then take me to where they were taken.” Scott promised. “But you’re not going to know everything. I won’t be forced into giving up other people’s secrets.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. You’ve got five minutes, Scott.”

**~*~**

Noah Stilinski woke up groggily to utter darkness. He felt as if he had drank too much and passed out, only there was neither taste nor smell of any alcohol on him. Only four times in the last eleven months had he drank to the point of oblivion: Christmas, his anniversary, the date Claudia had died, and on Stiles’ birthday. Other people might have been concerned; he counted it as a significant victory that he hadn’t crawled into a bottle and disappeared completely.

He hadn’t tried to stop drinking for two reasons. The first was that there was no reason for him to do so. He wasn’t an alcoholic. He could go — and he had gone — for weeks without taking a drink. When he did drink, it hadn’t impacted his job as sheriff nor the obligations he had to Beacon Hills. While it was probably bad for his health, he found he didn’t much care about that. There was little reason for him to stick around, so he figured that any time was as good as any other time.

The second reason, of course, was that he found it easier to be alone with the aid of a good finger of scotch. Some nights, the silence of the house became a weight threatening to drown him. The first couple of times the endless nothing of empty rooms had become too much, he had gone for a drive. Once, he wound up all the way in San Francisco. Yet he couldn’t simply leave the county every time he felt emotionally fraught.

One drink managed to dispel that weight maybe three, four times a week. It would do for the rest of his life.

But he hadn’t been drunk this evening; he’d been working. He remembered finding Haigh’s cruiser. Woozily, he sat up, but while doing so he tried to move his leg. It was attached to something. He pulled but he simply disturbed the other occupant of the room.

“Who’s there?” A man’s voice, sounding just as groggy as Noah was, demanded.

“Agent … Fitz? Is that you?”

“Certainly. Where are we?”

“I’m not quite sure.” Noah felt down his leg to find why he couldn’t move his leg. “But I’ve been secured by my own handcuffs to some sort of column. Can you move?”

The smaller SHIELD agent made less noise as he moved, but Noah could still hear him. “It seems I’m quite chained as well.”

Noah followed the cuffs to the pole where he was chained. It felt sturdy, far sturdier than the hook in the holding cell by which he had freed himself the last time someone had bound him with his own handcuffs. Part of some sort of grid, Noah was haunted by the idea that he should recognize where they were.

Instead of dwelling on it, he checked his belt and his pants pockets, for his jacket was gone. He had no phone. He had no gun. They had even taken his pepper spray and his Taser. “You wouldn’t happen to have any type of light source on you, would you?”

In a minute, the younger man replied in a voice which sounded full of mild disappointment. “Can’t say that I have.”

Wherever they were, there was no source of light. Not even a crack under a door. It would certainly make escape very difficult.

“It looks like we’re going to have to wait for a while,” the sheriff joked. “This isn’t my first time at this particular rodeo, so may I call you something other than Agent?”

“Everyone calls me Fitz.”

“Everyone calls me Sheriff.”

“Sheriff, do you know why we were kidnapped?”

Noah chuckled. “It’s Beacon Hills. The reason will come out eventually. If I had to take a wild guess, someone didn’t like the idea of SHIELD agents poking around their sinister plans and decided to distract your team.”

“Distract us?”

“Oh, yeah.” Fitz couldn’t see it, but Noah nodded vigorously. “Whoever it is need time to make their move. From what I could tell about your Mr. Coulson, his first priority has become you, just as my people’s first priority will be to find me.”

“I must say, you’re being awfully calm and confident about this!”

Noah realized he was being calm about it. He searched his feelings; he had no doubt that Scott and the pack would track him down. What that might mean for them, he couldn’t guess, but he had watched Scott McCall grow up, and he knew it wouldn’t matter to the alpha. He had watched Scott McCall turn from his son’s asthmatic tag-a-long into a real leader. “I guess I am.”

The sheriff heard the young agent move around, though he couldn’t see what Fitz was doing. Perhaps he was panicking. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine. Is your watch analog?”

“Huh?”

The agent’s Scottish accent became easier to hear when he was excited. “Is your watch analog? Do you wind it? Mine was digital, so whoever kidnapped us took it.”

“Yes, it’s analog.”

“Please, give it to me.”

The agent sounded so serious and insistent, so Noah complied. “My wife gave me this watch.” Due to this talk, he had a good idea how far Fitz was away from him, so he scooted closer until they were able to fumblingly exchange the timepiece in the dark.

“A pity that,” Fitz said after a moment, and then the sound of the watch shattering filled the silence.

Noah’s jaw dropped. “What are you doing?”

“Watch parts are made of quality metal,” Fitz explained. “Either the crown or the ratchet crick will allow me to pick the lock on the handcuffs.”

“In the dark?”

In a conversational tone, the Scotsman narrated what he was doing. “Once you get the pick into the lock, you really don’t need to use your eyes. It’s a matter of feeling the locks. I can do this, especially if I can concentrate.”

Noah bit his tongue. Perhaps he could have the watch repaired.

**~*~**

Coulson pulled Lola onto the shoulder of the road at the crime scene they had left earlier that evening. From the number of police cruisers there, Deputy Parrish had made good on his threat to perform his own parallel investigation of the kidnapping of Sheriff Stilinski and Leo Fitz. Even though he didn’t think they’d find much, Coulson hadn’t protested. They could find something, and while he wasn’t beyond pulling rank, it might go a long way to smoothing over the ruffled feathers of the local department if he didn’t interfere.

The sky had cleared up and the waxing gibbous moon hung low and indifferent in the sky. A brisk breeze came up the great valley and clawed its way up the Sierra Nevada. Beacon Hills fit neatly within a box valley at their foot. Coulson glanced to his left, where Scott McCall leaned forward, eager for the car to stop. An agitated Ward sat pensive in the back seat. The kid — no, the werewolf — had gotten the drop at him back at the house, and that wasn’t sitting well with the operative. Coulson guessed he wouldn’t be caught unawares like that again anytime soon.

“What do we tell him?” Coulson asked McCall. “I mean Deputy Parrish.”

“He’s used to this by now.” Scott answered, getting out of the car. “Sometimes the sheriff calls us in to make sure that certain crimes are just mundane, normal crimes.”

“You get a lot of non-mundane crimes?” Ward said sarcastically.

The werewolf stopped and nodded. “You read the sheriff’s files, so you know all of what happened was caused by a single crime.”

“I take it you mean the Hale Fire,” Coulson replied. “We did our homework, but I suspect that you’re thinking about something else.”

McCall leveled a pointed look at him. “You could be right.”

“Why did you want to come here?”

“I might be able to tell you who kidnapped your agent.” Scott promised. “If they left by foot, then I might be able to track them.”

“How?”

“My sense of smell is a lot better than yours.” Scott walked up to Deputy Parrish. “Hey there.”

“Scott, good to see you.” Parrish sent a quick glare toward Coulson and Ward. “We’re working as hard as we can to find the Sheriff. And that other guy.”

Ward frowned, unwilling to let it pass. “Good to know.”

Scott rolled his shoulders. “Parrish, they’re worried for their guy. I am, too. Did you find anything?”

“Nothing yet.” Parrish shrugged. “The only thing I can tell you is that there is a good chance they didn’t leave by car.”

Coulson perked up. “How do you know that?”

“The sheriff and whoever parked Deputy Haigh’s car both left their dash cameras running. The kidnapping itself is off camera, but unless the kidnapper could drive across country without leaving tire tracks, they went by foot.”

“They could have marched them across the fields to another waiting vehicle.” Ward pointed out. “That’s what I’d do.”

Scott McCall had left them and gone to the sheriff’s car. Coulson was watching him closely while Ward and the deputy discussed what the evidence could mean. Sure enough, Coulson saw the young man sniffing the air. The boy turned to the fields and started to move off the road.

“Find something?”

“The trail leads this way.” Scott responded. “There’s only one kidnapper. How could he possibly carry two people?”

“Could he be like you?”

“I’m strong enough to carry two people at a time but not strong enough to do it without leaving a track. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.” The werewolf turned away from them and said. “Find the sheriff. Call me when you do.”

Coulson immediately looked to the forest. “They out there?”

“Yeah.” Scott folded his arms over his chest, even more wary.

“SHIELD is not a danger to your people. We care about what people do, not what they are.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, but you are right — SHIELD isn’t a danger to my pack.” Scott turned away from the deputies. “What do you guys think?”

The night split open wide by the cries of what sounded like dozens of wolves in the rural countryside around them

###### October 15, 2013

It took Melinda May two seconds to ask herself: “How did I get here?”

The last thing she remembered was parking outside of Oak Creek with Simmons and Skye. She was a believer in harsh reality. She had seen war and terror; she didn’t have any truck with emanations or hauntings or anything like that. Yet every instinct she had told her that Oak Creek was bad news.

And then she woke up in this place. This cell, actually.

Simmons and Skye were in the same cell, so she quickly bent down and checked them. Unconscious, but seemingly unharmed except for some bruises. She could feel bruises as well — one on her cheek and one along her ribs. She had no idea how she got them.

She checked herself. She was unarmed. She had her cell phone, but it was simply not functioning.

She checked the surroundings outside of the cage. It felt underground; it looked underground. It also looked like a laboratory, but unlike any other she had ever seen. It was unbearable filthy and dimly lit. Vats bubbled with obscene greenish liquid, and grimy looking equipment sparked ominously. It looked like some sort of steam punk nightmare.

“Where the hell are we?”


End file.
